Betty's First Trip To Rome The Return
by bg Roman
Summary: G/B: Newly engaged Betty and Gio return to NYC from their glorious vacation in Rome. Wilhelmina soon entices Betty into taking on her pet charity project and Gio, secretly broke, throws himself into a punishing schedule for his ambitious five-year plan.
1. No Sweeter Sight

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 1 No Sweeter Sight

"Mother!" said Daniel with delight to Claire, who was standing waiting outside the office of Wilhelmina Slater, the new editor-in-chief of New York's foremost fashion magazine Mode. Wilhelmina had out-maneuvered Daniel and taken over his former position the month before. Daniel, having come directly from the airport to meet them, quickly dropped the luggage he was holding to embrace Claire and kiss her on the cheek. "How are you? How is Daniel Jr.? Was he good?" asked Daniel in rapid succession, not pausing for answers.

"Fine, fine and yes," Claire smiled, returning Daniel's hug and kiss. "How was Rome?"

"Rome was … uh, what? You said Danny was _good_?" exclaimed Daniel.

"He _was_ good, I mean for a boy his age," replied Claire. "I well remember you and Alex at that age. He's just the same as you were then. We got along famously. Now, tell me about Rome."

"Rome was fantastic," said Daniel, "The best trip I ever had to the city. I enjoyed every minute I spent with Betty and Gio and landing the deal with Antonio was the icing on the cake. You will not believe how fabulous Betty is looking."

"Ah, Roma Eterna, so romantic! Bradford and I loved that city!" She smiled as she reminisced of touring Rome with her beloved late husband. "How are Betty and Gio?"

"Madly in love and therefore somewhat sleep deprived." said Daniel with a chuckle. "Are there any other details that matter?"

"I suppose not," she said, smiling. "Does that mean the sound of wedding bells isn't far off?"

"No, on the contrary, they both seem determined to put their careers first, but …"

The arrival of Wilhelmina interrupted Daniel mid-sentence. She led them into her office, circled around behind her large imposing desk, sat, and waved her hand with a haughty air to indicate that they should sit also.

"Well, Daniel," Wilhelmina said coolly, "first things first: I note that congratulations are in order. Good work on securing the Antonio deal. Thank you."

"You're welcome." said Daniel warily, surprised to hear the sound of praise from his rival. "I congratulate you, too. I hear sales are up."

"Thank you Daniel, I am pleased with the latest issue, my _first_ issue as editor-in-chief." she replied, stressing the detail that everyone present was already painfully aware of. "I asked you here to give you your next assignment."

Daniel frowned; the aggravation of losing his position to Wilhelmina as fresh as ever. She had taken his job from him the same day she led the company to win the Mode versus Elle baseball game. Her power over him galled him. "And, what might that be?"

"I want you to join the accounting department. I want you to study the budgets and procedures there, everything they do, and get a handle on that end of the business."

"Really? You want _me_ there?" said Daniel, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. He was not a numbers person and would never fit into that department; he thought he might as well be banished to Siberia.

"Yes," said Wilhelmina, with an icy stare, inwardly pleased she'd predicted he would fight being sent to that department. She was confident he couldn't fail to demonstrate to everyone else how incompetent she knew he was.

Knowing he had no influence to change her mind, Daniel turned and glanced at Claire, hoping she would object on his behalf. Claire returned Daniel's look, but she stayed grim and silent, giving him only the slightest shrug of her shoulders in response. Wilhelmina had full control of Mode and, since Claire was the editor-in-chief of Hot Flash, she was powerless to help him.

"The _fact_ of the matter, Daniel," said Wilhelmina "is that without Betty to help you, you are hardly competent for anywhere. It was sheer luck that she was there to help you with Antonio." Her displeasure at his success in Rome was clear.

"Now, is that really …" said Daniel, stopping suddenly when he heard the sound of Alexis's stylish high heeled shoes clicking on the floor behind him. He turned to examine her demeanor. She stood tall and elegant and surveyed the room calmly. Alexis, Daniel's brother turned sister, was always mystery to him, he never knew if she'd be an ally or a foe. Desperate, he said, "Alexis, Betty will be back in a few days and I would like to have her promoted and assigned to work with me. Anywhere but in accounting, _please_."

"I'm sorry," said Alexis, without a trace of apology in her tone. As president of Meade she could overrule Wilhelmina if she chose, but today she did not choose to. "I refuse to micro-manage Mode so that means Wilhelmina is free to assign you to wherever she wishes."

"And it is in accounting," Wilhelmina said, "for now. I have something else in mind for Betty," she added, ominously. "Do you really think she'd like to go with you to accounting?"

"No, of course not." said Daniel. He knew that Betty's talent wasn't for numbers either; her ambition was to be a writer.

"What will she be doing?" he asked, suddenly afraid to find out what Wilhelmina was planning for Betty.

"You'll know in good time, Daniel … all in good time. Just tell her to come and see me as soon as she returns," said Wilhelmina. Rising from her chair, she signaled the end of the meeting with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Wait! Before you go," interjected Alexis, seating herself between Daniel and Claire and holding out a letter to Wilhelmina, "I have some correspondence here that we should all look at."

Wilhelmina took the letter from Alexis, seated herself at her desk, and read it quietly.

"Another charity competition?" said Wilhelmina scornfully to Alexis. "Haven't we done enough for these greedy people? Aren't they ever satisfied?"

Wilhelmina stood up to admire proudly the huge trophy from the baseball game which was displayed prominently on a cabinet beside her desk. "Are we supposed to give even more of our time to these poor, pathetic, little people, none of whom have even a penny to spend or an ounce of taste in fashion? Why do _we_ care?"

"Elle has already signed up," replied Alexis, knowing exactly what would motivate Wilhelmina to participate.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" said Wilhelmina, reading the letter through again, paying careful attention to its details, and then handing it to Claire. "Of course we are devoted to charity work! And this looks like a particularly interesting competition. I'm starting to get some very _interesting_ ideas about it already."

* * *

Gio and Betty paused in the airport baggage pickup area, just moments before meeting their families, to study the monitors that displayed the flights and baggage carrousels. Instead of being tired from their long flight back from Rome, they comfortably leaned against each other, their eyes sparkling, their lips smiling, and their cheeks flushed, still warm and glowing from some recent exertions together.

They were back at the NYC airport, the same place they left a month before but Gio felt completely different. Back then when Hilda and Daniel had opened his eyes after his fight with Betty, he had a constant battle inside: his heart pushing him to move too fast and his head fighting to slow himself down.

Ever since Betty had agreed to marry him the trip had been wonderful. He'd never experienced such ecstasy. Waking up in bed with her each morning, and sharing every moment of the day. Taking care of everyone around her, never herself, she was eternally cheerful, the happiest and nicest person he had ever met. He loved her unique and special personality. But she needed someone to look after her and to make sure she remembered to have fun, and he wanted to do that for her. He wanted to do it forever. Even though Betty wanted to move into an apartment with him right away, he realized that they'd better wait a while. It was too soon, he was still in peril of moving too fast. It killed him to wait, but he couldn't risk losing Betty like he almost did before, and an engagement could be broken as fast as taking a ring off a finger.

She was sometimes hard for him to understand, like when she first agreed to go to Rome with him and then changed her mind the next day, or when she kissed him back, in the deli, but wouldn't admit it afterwards. So he had to think it through, instead of following his faulty instincts. He'd thought it over carefully and he was sure that it would work out better in the long run to live apart for now. Betty was the kind of person likely to put her career aside for him, and he knew she would regret it later. Maybe not in six months or a year, but eventually, she'd regret it. Success in a career was important to her and he promised himself not to let her neglect achieving it.

Betty smoothed her tousled hair and checked that her blouse was properly buttoned back up and tucked into her skirt's waistband. She needed to look respectable for the family. She held out her hand to admire her engagement ring, then glanced up to Gio and asked flirtatiously, "Do I look okay?"

Gio gazed at her, adoring her, unable to imagine a sweeter sight: her face radiant, her hair and clothes a little disheveled, her pink earlobes decorated with pearl earrings. Even the black bra strap he could see slipping down her shoulder was endearing. "No, Suarez" he said, shaking his head.

She looked at him with wide eyes, surprised.

Gio impulsively reached out and slipped his fingers under the sleeve of her blouse trying to put the strap back in place, "You look much better than okay."

Betty, looking at Gio's hand on her shoulder and grabbing the strap, said, "No, let me do it."

Gio quickly pulled his hand back, suspecting the intimacy of the gesture or the location of his hand was inappropriate, freezing when he felt his fingers become entangled in her hair. They were in a public space and he was petrified he'd trespassed over her boundaries. His mind flashed back to the fight in the park, when he had inadvertently angered her with an unwelcome touch. Here they were, back from their charmed life in Rome, and he hadn't been on guard. He watched her in fear, holding his breath.

Unaware of Gio's agitation, Betty laughed from seeing his hand caught and pulled her hair free from it. "What are we doing? How can we live apart? You, staying with your parents, and me at my house, it's crazy. I want to live with you."

Relieved and thankful that Betty was not angry, Gio resumed breathing. He gently slid his hand around her waist, "I want to too B, but we'll save a ton of money staying at home. And we should both focus on our work right now." He stroked her back with his hand. "And I'll see you for lunch. We can have lunch together every day. We will have dates whenever you want. It'll be fun."

Pressing into Gio, sliding her hands up his arms, she tilted her face up close to his. Betty breathed deeply, breathing his cologne, and stroked the dark stubble that framed his smiling red lips. "No," she said, her soft lips inviting his to meet them.

Gio's good intentions were melting away rapidly and they were just as quickly being replaced by other intentions. He was on the verge of relenting when Betty said, "You're right, I know we should be sensible and save money. But let's not be sensible yet, this moment is the last one of our amazing holiday and I want you to kiss me, right now."

He obeyed ardently. As a steady stream of weary passengers diverted around them, everything faded; Betty and Gio entered their own private world.


	2. Empanada or Panino

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 2 Empanada or Panino

"So, Betty," said Hilda with a quiet chuckle, "_now_ do you think Gio is a good kisser?"

Betty and Hilda were just home from the airport, alone in Betty's bedroom, sitting together on the bed. Betty's half-unpacked luggage and clothes were spread around them. Hilda was eating ice cream out of the carton.

"Yes!" said Betty. "But you're not hearing another word about it," she said. Eager to change the topic, Betty said, "Tell me what happened between you and Daniel. Why'd you break up?"

Betty knew that Daniel and Hilda had not really been dating when she left for Rome. It was a lie invented to cover up Daniel's involvement in their scheme to get her and Gio back together. But she thought she'd have a little fun with Hilda before revealing that she had learned all about it from Gio.

"Oh, we weren't, um, compatible. Daniel's not my type." said Hilda.

"Hmmm, I thought he was," said Betty. "Good looking, young, rich, how can you find a guy better than that? Wasn't he nice?"

"Oh, yes, he was nice," said Hilda, trying to remember what she and Daniel had told Betty, and at the same time racking her brains to come up with a credible reason to break up with him.

It had bothered Betty to find out that Daniel and Hilda had been prying into her personal life, so she enjoyed watching Hilda squirm. She was getting her revenge for the pair's meddling and secret matchmaking.

"He jumped into a relationship with Renee kind of fast after you broke up," said Betty, "wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, that explains it, I could tell he just wasn't that into me," said Hilda, relieved.

Betty yawned, too tired to continue her game with Hilda, "What time is it? I'm exhausted."

"I _knew_ you haven't been getting your beauty sleep!" said Hilda, happy to change the topic. Actually, she'd noticed that Betty was much better looking now than when she had left for Rome. "I love your hairstyle, and are you wearing new makeup?"

"Yes, I'm wearing makeup that Maria, Gio's older sister, gave me. I can't wait until you meet her. You're going to love her," Betty replied, reaching out and picking up a nightgown from nearby her.

Hilda grabbed her hand and admired the engagement ring. "Betty, explain to me again, why are you waiting so long to get married?"

"Gio and I want to focus on our careers right now. Gio is going to plan our wedding, _you_ know how much he likes planning, and he doesn't have time right now. He wants it to be the most romantic wedding ever, with a carriage ride and a Cinderella dress, in a cute church, followed by a gigantic feast. There will be a lot of guests too, he has a big family. It is going to take a lot of time, money, and energy. We can't do it now, we have to wait."

"You're not the only one that has to wait, you know," said Hilda, thinking of herself. She would be the maid-of-honor, of course, and was impatient to plan a wedding shower, and other celebrations for her sister. She longed to wear a beautiful bridesmaid dress.

"I know," said Betty, thinking of Gio. She knew it would be hard on him to wait.

"So, do you really have to wait?" replied Hilda.

"Gio will be working long hours to build up his deli business and I will be taking night-school classes as long as it takes to become a writer. We'll save a lot of money by staying at home. So you see," said Betty, sighing wistfully, "the longer we wait the better off we'll be."

"How long?"

"Maybe not too long, Daniel promised me a promotion and a raise when I got back. I am really looking forward to seeing him tomorrow and asking him about it. And Gio is so good I'm sure he'll be as successful as he wants, soon."

"Are you sure Daniel will be able to give you a promotion? I haven't talked to him for a while but things were different at Mode since Wilhelmina took over."

"I haven't talked to him since he left Rome. I told him not to call me about work." said Betty, frowning. "I suppose it's possible that he can't give me a promotion but at least I can get my job back as his assistant. That wouldn't be so bad. Please, Hilda, I have to sleep, I'm dead. _Go_, and take the ice cream with you."

"Okay, _okay_, I believe you, you're tired! God, there is so much I want to ask you right now, you're killing me here!" Hilda reluctantly stood up to give Betty enough room to lie down on the bed.

Closing her eyes as soon as her head touched the pillow, the nightgown still in her hand, Betty was asleep before Hilda had time to switch off the light.

* * *

The next moring Betty rode up the elevator at the Mode building happily anticipating getting back to work and seeing Daniel. She had not heard where Daniel was working and she was curious to find out what he was doing. She wanted to ask him about Renee and how she was doing in rehab. Feeling relaxed, calm and confident, she smoothed the skirt of her pretty new dress, one of ones she bought in Rome, and approached Amanda's desk to ask her where to find Daniel.

Mark and Amanda were talking together and they both looked up as Betty came into view. Above the countertop Betty could see Amanda was wearing a prim, white blouse with a skinny navy blue tie covering the row of buttons. Her long blonde hair was braided demurely. Marc was wearing a dark, beautifully tailored sport coat. They both looked stylish, yet also efficient, and professional.

"Hello Betty, look at you!" said Amanda, noticing her tanned face, bright white smile, sleek hairstyle, and surprisingly tasteful dress. "Wow!" she said, astonished by Betty's transformation from fashion mishap to almost presentable.

Betty pushed back a strand of her hair, purposely flashing her engagement ring, and said "Thank you Amanda. How are you? Where can I find Daniel?"

Reaching out and grabbing Betty's hand, Amanda exclaimed "Oooh, let me see that!" and examined the ring earnestly while Betty looked on, pleased with Amanda's excited reaction.

"Well, look at that! A ring!" said Marc.

"Yeah! Check it out, a ring! So, where did you just return from? Was it … Middle Earth?" asked Amanda.

"Rome." said Betty, not amused.

"Precious!" exclaimed Marc, leaning over Amanda's shoulder for a closer look.

"So, how is Frodo?" Amanda said, looking up to Betty's face.

"Who?" said Betty, offended, but faking curiosity.

"_Gio_ … so, how is Gio?"

"He's fine!" said Betty, becoming exasperated, "Just tell me where Daniel is, _please_."

"I'm not asking about Gio's _health_, how is he, you know, … ?" said Amanda, raising both eyebrows. "Come on girl, I need details, _details_!"

Betty, alert and suspicious, but uncomprehending, withdrew her hand from Amanda's grasp, while Marc patted Amanda's shoulder, amused by her question.

Betty, slowly realizing Amanda's meaning, flushed and replied "No, no way!"

Amanda stood up and gave Betty a slow, studious, head-to-toe glance, tilting her head to one side. "Just a minute, have you been eating really well lately, or is there something in the oven?" She pretended to sniff the air.

Betty could see the rest of Amanda; she was wearing a very short plaid kilt, completing her sexy school girl look. Typical, Betty thought, typical Amanda, _why_ wouldn't she just tell her where Daniel was?

"Do you smell an empanada cooking?" Marc asked Amanda, smirking, his fingers dancing on the countertop.

Betty looked at Marc, then Amanda, puzzled. She begged again, "Where is Daniel?" She wanted to escape Amanda's uncomfortable scrutiny. She looked around at the other people walking by, hoping to see Daniel or someone else she could ask.

"Or maybe a _panino?_" laughed Amanda, smiling.

"_What_ are you talking about?" said Betty, confused by the questions.

"I'm thinking of a Haiku!" shouted Marc, snatching a piece of paper from Amanda's pad.

"I'm thinking of a limerick!" cried Amanda, ignoring Betty's growing frustration while tearing off a sheet of paper, and grabbing a pen. She wrote swiftly and then read aloud,

"She ordered baguette and tomato,  
with lettuce, smoked turkey, and mayo,  
but she got Roman lovin'  
and a bun in the oven ..."

"Stop it!" interrupted Betty, flustered and annoyed. What disgusting graffiti was going to appear on the men's room wall today?

Amanda continued reading in a sing-song voice,

"Salami on dark pumpernickel,  
with mayo and baby dill pickle …"

Amanda paused, resting her pen against her lip.

Marc, counting syllables on his finger tips, said, "Amanda, you're amazing!"

Betty gawked at Amanda's audacity.

"So," Amanda asked Betty, "how soon will we be hearing the pitter-patter of …"

Knowing her thick waist and sudden engagement seemed to give everyone the same shameful idea exasperated and appalled Betty. But, although she hated to admit it, it made sense to her too, why else would a hot, sexy guy like Gio, want to marry someone dorky and fat, like her?

Feeling afresh her painful embarrassment when Amanda sent a picture of Gio kissing her to everyone in the office, Betty realized that even though it was none of Amanda's business, she had to take action to stop her from spreading rumors.

Betty screamed angrily at Amanda, "I'm _not_ pregnant!"

Flushing hotly when she realized everyone around them was staring at her, she was instantly mortified. Amanda had provoked her into an extremely unprofessional outburst. Horrified by her own conduct, Betty blushed scarlet and glared at Amanda.

Within a few short minutes Amanda had pierced her self-confidence, which, as Gio's new fiancé and Daniel's invaluable assistant, had been strong, and wrecked it. Now, she wondered if she deserved either Gio's or Daniel's respect. Close to tears, but determined not to let Amanda see her cry on her first day back, she took a deep breath to calm herself, and said firmly, "Tell me where I can find Daniel."

"Too bad about your job," smirked Amanda. "Daniel has a cute assistant now, a guy, and he's just my type! Even Renee likes him."

Shocked and confused, Betty stared at Amanda. Was it possible that Daniel had replaced her without telling her? Betty thought about Daniel. He was now devoted to Renee. Was it possible that he hired a man to keep Renee from being jealous? Betty's hopes for her career declined precipitously.

"Oh, right, you're not to see Daniel yet, Betty, you're to come with me," said Marc quickly, taking Betty's arm and giving her a nudge in the direction of Wilhelmina's office. With an imperious tone, he added, "You have been granted the _great_ good fortune of an immediate audience with our exalted new ruler."

Betty stared at Marc, disconcerted by his change in manner. She was worried about Daniel and she wanted to see him first.

"This way," he added, guiding her firmly with a slight shudder of distaste.

Just the mention of Wilhelmina's new status as editor-in-chief had turned them both serious, almost frightened looking. Betty became alarmed about meeting Wilhelmina.

"Prepare to kneel," advised Marc grimly, pulling her with him.

Amanda quickly returned her attention to the work on her desk, showing a new found work ethic, and whispered quietly to Betty, "Sorry. Good luck."

Betty could tell that in the one month she'd been away the culture at Mode had changed drastically.

* * *

Marc's haiku:

Smile Gio's pickle  
What's Betty's choice? Salami!  
She's eating for two


	3. A Delicious Revenge

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 3 A Delicious Revenge.

When Marc ushered Betty into Wilhelmina's office, she was on the phone. Wilhelmina waved for Betty to sit down across from her and for Marc to leave the room. Betty sat nervously, distraught from Amanda's rudeness and her own outburst, and worried about what Wilhelmina would do with her. Even though Daniel had encouraged her to believe she would get a promotion and a raise, both of which she wanted desperately, she was doubtful that Wilhelmina would agree to it. Unfortunately, it was the domineering Wilhelmina who was calling the shots now. Wilhelmina, looking as formidable and frigid as an arctic glacier, sat calmly in her high-backed white swivel chair and dressed in an impeccable white suit, ignoring Betty and continuing her conversation on the phone.

Amanda had shattered Betty's confidence and the thought that Daniel had replaced her, devastated her. She would have done anything for him. Her worst fear about going to Rome was having him find out he didn't need her anymore. Had it come true?

Attempting to compose herself while waiting for Wilhelmina to finish her call, Betty glanced around the room. Her eyes rested on the Mode versus Elle baseball trophy displayed on the cabinet next to Wilhelmina's desk.

Betty's violent emotions from the day of the game flooded back: the cherished memory of Gio teaching her to hit a baseball and the thrill of his invitation to Rome, her distressing dilemma over Henry's surprise proposal, and worst of all, her cruel treatment of Gio. Sorrowing from Henry's sad plight with his sick baby, she had been furious at Gio. He, after the game, without even a word exchanged between them, started making out with her. It was his impertinence – another instance of his pushy, presumptuous actions - which unnerved her and made her break up with him. But now, he was different, the opposite.

From the moment they arrived in Rome he was exceedingly reserved, gentlemanly, treating her as nothing more than a friend. When she decided she wanted him to, it took many days of wheedling to convince him to kiss her. He didn't even propose until after she'd told him she'd accept it! After the many attempts at using her inexperienced womanly wiles had failed, she'd practically had to drag him into her bed. And there he surprised her too, rather than taking her with the blunt fierce passion she had feared, he made love to her gently and deftly, agonizingly slowly, until she begged him to get on with it, each time discovering new heights of ecstasy. His gentleness ignited a fiery passion inside her.

His decision to live separately surprised her. Why did he say he wanted to live with her when they returned from Rome, then change his mind? She loved him and wanted to get married right away, or at least live with him, but Gio said their lack of money and the need to focus on their careers meant they should wait.

She wanted to get married now, urgently, before something bad happened to Gio like it did with poor Henry, but she had to advance her career first. She was torn between the two goals.

Starting to feel hungry, she checked the time; soon Gio would bring her a sandwich. She had not seen or talked to him in the almost eighteen hours since they left the airport, and, after not being apart for more than a few minutes the entire month they were in Rome, it seemed like an eternity. Already a hundred times today, she had thought of him.

Frightened by her impending interview with Wilhelmina, she tried to distract herself from her worries by guessing what kind of sandwich Gio would bring her. But she was too upset for that game to work today. Her vexing thoughts were interrupted when she heard Wilhelmina hang up the phone.

Wilhelmina looked at Betty with a cold gaze that seemed to penetrate into her soul. Betty, suppressing an involuntary shiver, struggled to maintain a calm appearance.

"Betty, how well you look," said Wilhelmina pleasantly. "I hear you are engaged. Congratulations."

"Thank you," said Betty, startled by her friendly tone and unable to think of anything else to say.

"Wedding plans?" inquired Wilhelmina.

"No, not yet." answered Betty.

"I wished to talk to you Betty, as soon as you returned, because I need to explain some changes around here." Wilhelmina pointed her flawlessly manicured finger tips at the papers scattered on her desk. "There are lots of changes, actually. And I need your help."

Betty, wary, replied, "I _want_ to help you but I'd rather assist Daniel. I love working for Daniel. Can I do that? What is he doing now?"

"That may be possible, but before we talk about him, let me give you some other suggestions. I think you have very good potential and are destined for something better than being Daniel's assistant."

"Really?" Betty was taken aback by Wilhelmina's speech. Wilhelmina had no love for her, she was sure, so it didn't make sense. This wasn't going like she had expected and she wasn't sure how to respond.

"Betty, running a business like Mode, takes a lot of smart people, and a lot of hard workers. I happen to think you fit in _both_ categories." Wilhelmina's voice was like honey. She leaned towards Betty and in a lowered voice said, "I happen to believe that you masterminded Daniel's success in landing the Antonio deal. You were there in Rome with him, I know."

"Oh, no. I mean, yes, I was there, but it was all due to Daniel!"

"You can't deny it Betty. I don't believe you. You're modest, and that is sweet. I've heard through the grapevine you were a key player. Tell me what happened, I'd like to hear it from you, in your own words."

"Nothing, nothing happened really. There isn't anything to say!" Betty supposed that Wilhelmina was trying to trick her into exposing Daniel's bungling. It was true she had been instrumental in helping him, but no one else should have known. And no one would have told Wilhelmina, thought Betty, so how did she know?

"Well, never mind that now, but some day I'd like to hear your side of it," said Wilhelmina, leaning back and swiveling her chair casually, relaxed. "That can wait until another time."

"Please tell me, where is Daniel?" asked Betty. All morning she had been trying to find out and no one would tell her.

"In accounting," replied Wilhelmina, observing Betty's distressed reaction with a sly smile.

"Does he need an assistant?" asked Betty, attempting to hide her disappointment. Daniel had done so much for her, including just giving her and Gio a month-long vacation in Rome, yet unfortunately, accounting was not a good department for her. She was annoyed with herself because despite being grateful for the trip she didn't want to join him in accounting.

"Before going into that, why don't you let me describe another possibility first," said Wilhelmina, pushing some papers together on her desk and handing them to Betty. "What I've given you is the resume of our new vice-president of operations, Sondra Cartwright. She's a crackerjack girl, a ball of fire, and I am expecting big things from her. You'll like her, everyone does. She started a couple of days ago and she needs an executive assistant. I was hoping you'd be interested."

Betty took the resume and scanned it over. Even though she wasn't looking for a new boss, she couldn't help but be impressed by Sondra's qualifications. Sondra had quickly worked her way up the ranks at some leading companies, proving she was very smart.

"She just moved here from Boston. She has excellent references, is well qualified and her experience is the best I've seen. I think both of you would benefit from working together," Wilhelmina continued in a smooth, friendly way, explaining in detail the type of work that the vice-president of operations does and how Betty could help her with it. Wilhelmina explained to her how prestigious being an executive assistant was, and how in the position Betty would learn firsthand about all aspects of the magazine business. It was a significant promotion.

"Wouldn't she want to hire her own assistant?" Betty asked, unconvinced of her suitability and suspicious that Wilhelmina was offering her such a good opportunity.

"You would think so, but I have given her my personal recommendation for you," said Wilhelmina. "You have two years experience here at the highest level and I've told her you have a lot of initiative and are very capable. She is new and she realizes that an experienced, hard worker like you would be the best assistant she could have. She wants _you_."

"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, thinking it surreal that Wilhelmina was praising her to Sondra. As far as she could discern Wilhelmina appeared to be sincere, but logically it was improbable. Something smelled wrong.

"Now, I know your ambition is to be a writer," continued Wilhelmina in a honey-toned voice, "and I've heard that your submission to Hot Flash from Rome was very well-received, that article about Wendy's travel packages for older woman. An intelligent piece eminently suitable for the magazine, I read it myself and I thought it very good, very well done."

"Thank you!" said Betty, flabbergasted and flattered by the compliment; astounded that Wilhelmina had read her article. Although she had doubts about Wilhelmina's motives, she was impressed at how informed she was and proud that she liked it.

"I can help you with your goals Betty," said Wilhelmina. "But, like I said before, I need help too. It's a two way street. Are you ready to rise to the challenge?"

By taking the position with Sondra, Betty would end her beloved work relationship with Daniel. But maybe he didn't need her. She desperately wanted to consult with him first before accepting. She thought of him, poor Daniel, relegated to accounting, could it be any worse? She wanted to work with Daniel but she didn't want to go to accounting. Betty looked at Wilhelmina trying to figure out why she was being nice.

"You're probably wondering why I'm offering you such a wonderful position," said Wilhelmina.

Unbelievable, thought Betty, was she that transparent? She wondered how Wilhelmina knew so much, she knew about her engagement, her article for Hot Flash, and even the Antonio deal. It was eerie, unnatural. Betty tried to shake off her superstitions and be rational. Yet, it was odd that she was being nice when she could easily order Betty anywhere. Betty wanted to weigh her options the right way, but she wasn't sure what the right way was. The job was tempting, very desirable, but she loved Daniel and she had promised to stay with him, she felt an obligation to work with him no matter how bad that job was for her.

"I expect great things from you Betty. What you've done for Daniel has been nothing short of remarkable, especially considering _his_ qualifications," Wilhelmina frowned at that, because, if not for Betty's capability at damage control, she probably would have been able to oust Daniel sooner. She quickly changed her expression back to the phony smile. "The position with Sondra will be an astute career move, a good step. I can guarantee you that. Do you have any questions about it?"

Betty, afraid to appear as interested as she was, shook her head solemnly.

"Furthermore, I expect you to have your eyes and ears open at all times as you go about your work with her, and I expect you to report back to me from time to time so I'm made aware of anything useful going on. I can't be everywhere at once, so I'll be relying on you," said Wilhelmina, pausing to let her words sink in. "Do you understand what I'm asking of you?"

So, thought Betty, that's what this is all about, she's to spy on Sondra and report back to Wilhelmina. She needed her cooperation. This is how Wilhelmina keeps informed; she must have people all over the company doing this. Perhaps everyone was a spy. Betty considered the idea repugnant; she valued honesty and integrity. She wondered if there was any kind of tactful way to refuse it. She'd seen 'The Godfather'; she wondered if this was the type of offer you couldn't refuse. Betty thought about it from different angles, wavering, both tempted and repulsed, trying to decide what to say.

"You're asking me to spy on Sondra," said Betty. "How could I work with her and do that? I can't do it. I want to work for Daniel, and I'd never tell on him. I'm not interested."

"I know you wouldn't, not with Daniel, but this is Sondra. If she's half as good as she's supposed to be, there will be nothing for you to tell me she wouldn't want me to know. I'm only asking this for the benefit of the company. You'll be with her almost every moment and, if there _is_ something I should hear, you would want to tell me, I know, because we both want the magazine to be successful. Isn't that right?" said Wilhelmina, making the idea sound perfectly reasonable.

"Still, it's sneaky. What would Sondra think about me if she knew? She'd get rid me if she found out. It's not right."

"She wouldn't know. No one would know. I want it clearly understood; this arrangement is between you and me."

Betty sat quietly and thought. She wanted the position and Sondra seemed great, but she knew she should be careful of Wilhelmina. She couldn't trust her, but, aware of her power, it didn't seem wise to thwart her either. "I want to talk to Daniel first. Can I let you know later?"

"No," said Wilhelmina emphatically. "You have to let me know now. Sondra needs someone today and I can easily find someone else if you don't take it. This is a time limited offer."

Wilhelmina, her hands on her desk, leaned towards Betty menacingly, "What's your answer?"

Betty asked forlornly, "But what about Daniel?"

"Forget about him. He doesn't need you."

Betty debated with herself. It was a good offer, a very good offer. It seemed useless now to expect Daniel's help. But still she was loyal to him, even when everything pointed against it, and she resisted accepting. She silently struggled with intense conflicting emotions: her desire to go for the promotion and her guilt for deserting Daniel.

Wilhelmina, studying Betty's features and sensing her stubborn opposition faltering, changed to another tactic.

Smiling warmly, Wilhelmina said, "Of course, there would be an increase in compensation with this particular position. Betty, would you like to discuss a raise?"

The remainder of Betty's diminishing resolve was crushed by the prospect of a higher salary. Betty finally caved to Wilhelmina's wishes. Disgusted with herself, she answered, "Yes."

The opportunity was outstanding and the raise significant. And, although the secrecy was sickening, she wanted the job. Swallowing her misgivings and abandoning Daniel, Betty took the position. She wondered how she'd break it to him. Not only had Wilhelmina got her way, Betty was grateful to her, she wanted to succeed and she would do what she was asked. As soon as they agreed on the terms, Betty, her mind in turmoil - pitying Daniel, excited, apprehensive, hopeful, and ashamed - went to meet her new boss.

Marc, observing Betty's troubled expression when she came out of Wilhelmina's office, immediately rushed in.

"What happened?" asked Marc, smirking and prancing.

"Go," said Wilhelmina crossly, having no desire to talk.

Wilhelmina sat slumped in her chair, tired and irritated by Betty's interview. She was weary from suppressing her vile nature and being nice to Betty in order to break up the Daniel-Betty duo. She grudgingly admired their bond, jealous of its strength, knowing sycophant Marc wouldn't think twice about leaving her, and she wanted them split as a delicious revenge for Daniel getting in her way.

Although victorious in the end, she discovered that virtuous Betty, loyal to Daniel, had proven almost intractable. Despite her own highly developed skill at manipulation, convincing Betty to do her bidding had taken more effort and more money than she'd anticipated. Perhaps she'd underestimated the girl's backbone. Was there more to her than met the eye? She was galled that Betty, devoid of simple self-interest, had nearly confounded her.

"Where is Betty going?" pressed Marc, knowing the question was unwelcome but longing to get the inside scoop before anyone else.

"Marc, you know you're always on a need-to-know basis with me," said Wilhelmina, "and this is what you need to know," she stood up, and, no longer caring to restrain herself, exploded from sheer frustration and screamed, "_Get out!_"

Pale from fear, Marc fled.


	4. Lunch Alfresco

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 4 Lunch Alfresco

After the lunch rush died down, Gio headed to the Mode building to meet Betty. Seeking out a quiet corner of the lobby, he shifted the pair of sandwiches he was holding to one hand so he could dial his cell with the other. Betty was upstairs moving into her new office when her phone rang.

Betty answered hurriedly, explaining to Gio about her new job and telling him that her new boss, Sondra, was taking her out to lunch. She apologized for wasting his time and a delicious sandwich.

"No problem," said Gio, with a chuckle. "Congratulations on the promotion! I can't wait to hear more about it. I'll find something to do. And don't worry about the sandwich, it won't go to waste, I'll give it to some other homeless person."

"Who are you calling homeless?" exclaimed Betty.

"You!" laughed Gio. Daniel's moratorium on him teasing Betty now lifted, he was happy to be back at it again.

"I live in a _house_, so how can you call _me_ homeless?" retorted Betty.

"In my book," said Gio, "if you're over 20 and you live with your family, you _are_ homeless."

"It isn't something to kid around about Gio; you're being very insensitive to real homeless people!"

"Hey, I'm in the same boat," said Gio, defending himself, while noticing Daniel stepping out of the elevator into the lobby. He said contritely, "I'm sorry; I promise I'll be more considerate of homeless people's feelings."

"Good!" said Betty, giggling, successfully winning the point.

Gio arranged to meet Betty after work, rang off, and just managed to catch up with Daniel before he disappeared out the entrance.

"Hey Daniel, free for lunch?" asked Gio, smiling and holding up the sandwiches temptingly. "I owe you one, big time."

"Sure!" replied Daniel happily. "I didn't expect to see you back from Rome already. Where's Betty?"

"Standing me up," said Gio, walking with Daniel out of the building.

"Oh! I'll have to hunt her down later. Where do you want to go?" asked Daniel.

It was a warm, sunny summer day. "Over to the park?" suggested Gio.

"Okay," replied Daniel cheerfully, crossing the street in the direction of the park. Gio hadn't been back there since the day he gave Betty batting lessons.

The two men continued talking and walking towards the park for a few minutes. One man, Daniel, born into money, was tall and lanky, dressed in an elegant navy blue suit, smelling of expensive cologne, while the other man, Gio, was his opposite, earning every dollar by his wits and sweat, compact and muscular, dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt, and smelling faintly of soap and disinfectant. But in another sense they were the same kind of man, laughing, joking, shoving, and punching each other like brothers, reunited after a long absence, both in the prime of life, proud and driven to succeed, beset by work problems, but supremely satisfied with their personal lives.

About half a block before reaching the park they passed in front of a new, trendy-looking restaurant and Daniel paused. The sidewalk patio tables were in view, shaded by classy umbrellas, and bustling with patrons and smartly dressed waiters. "Why don't we eat here? There's a table open at the end there. We can get a good coffee to go with our sandwiches."

"No," said Gio firmly, "we can't take the sandwiches in. Go and get a coffee, take-out. I'll wait here."

"We can sneak the sandwiches in, no one cares about that on the sidewalk," said Daniel, trying to coax Gio. "That table is right on the edge."

"No way!" exclaimed Gio. "Not allowed. Do you forget who you're talking to?"

"Who?" said Daniel.

"The owner of a food establishment! You can't bring food in," explained Gio. "No exceptions, none."

"Okay, but I want to sit at a table. I don't want to mess up this suit on a park bench, you know? And I've heard this place is good. We should check it out," winked Daniel. "You can give me your professional opinion."

"Alright, but it's on me. Go ahead and grab the table, I'll be back in a minute," said Gio.

Daniel sat at the table while Gio walked a little farther down the street to where two old men with greasy hair, leathery skin, and ragged clothing were lounging on a bench in front of the park. They had several plastic bags filled with cans and bottles on the bench between them.

The two men were arguing over who would claim a discarded cigarette butt, which had been dropped by a passerby, and lay on the sidewalk in front of them in disputed territory.

Gio held out the two sandwiches, and said politely, "Would either of you like a sandwich for lunch?"

The two men ignored Gio, continuing to argue loudly over who owned the cigarette butt.

Taking another step closer, Gio said, "They're perfectly good sandwiches. I made them myself! They're gourmet, free, and I'm delivering them personally to you."

This time one of the men took a sandwich, greedily choosing the bigger one. The other man quickly snatched up the butt, then took the other sandwich from Gio and without hesitation said, "Thank you, kind sir! Since I have unaccountably misplaced my pocketbook, I don't suppose you could spare a few coins so I can purchase a suitable beverage to wash down this delectable luncheon?"

Rolling his eyes at the request, Gio pulled out his wallet and handed him a few bills.

"You wouldn't happen to have a smoke, would ya?" asked the other man.

"No, sorry," said Gio, handing him a couple of dollars, "Bon appetit!"

Gio turned and headed back to the restaurant.

"And there goes the finest gent in the world," said the man to his partner, who ignored him and kept eating, accustomed to his florid friend's hyperbole.

"Tip o' the hat to ya!" called the old man after Gio, clutching the bills and the cigarette butt tightly, while eagerly unwrapping his sandwich.

Daniel, seated at the patio table, waved to Gio as he approached. When Gio sat down, Daniel handed him a menu.

"Excellent! Lots to choose from," said Daniel. "Too bad about your sandwiches, but we can do that another day, okay?"

"No worries, they found a good home. Anyway, I need to change it up once in a while, can't always eat my own food," replied Gio, reading the menu with interest. "What are you up to these days?"

"I'm in accounting," said Daniel, with a shrug. "It doesn't make sense, but whatever. I have to do what I'm told. How was Rome after I left?" Daniel winked, "I didn't want to call and interrupt your vacation again."

"Good," said Gio, "no, better than good. Perfect! I owe it all to you."

"Set a wedding date yet?" asked Daniel.

"No," said Gio. "I'd marry her tomorrow but I don't want to rush Betty." He laughed, "I always have to remind myself she's not a Lamborghini!"

"Ah, you remembered that," exclaimed Daniel, reddening. "That seems like such a long time ago."

"But it's true," said Gio. "I followed your advice and it worked like a charm. Putting on the brakes was exactly what I needed to do. I just didn't know it, and I would never have figured it out on my own. I was in such a hurry, afraid of missing my chance."

"The classic reverse chase, with a twist," said Daniel, "you have to slow down enough to let her catch you. But the unusual feature is that it takes place in Rome, the most romantic city on earth, and," laughing exuberantly, "_crowded_ with all your relatives!"

"I can't thank you enough," said Gio gratefully.

"No need," said Daniel, beaming with pleasure, proud that his efforts brought Gio and Betty back together. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer couple."

The waiter interrupted their conversation to take their orders and then disappeared.

"And in any case," continued Gio, "it isn't like you can do an Italian wedding in less than a year or two. They are the most amazing extravaganzas. Huge does not even begin to describe them. By the way, I hope you'll be my best man."

"If you want me to, I'd be delighted!" replied Daniel, unfolding his napkin and laying it on his lap. "But why don't you elope? That sounds a lot easier, quicker and cheaper."

"My mother would kill me!" said Gio. "And Betty. For some reason, that I don't understand, she has a weird opinion of Betty. And an elopement would be sure to make it worse."

"She doesn't like Betty?" said Daniel. "How could that be? What does she think of her?"

"I overheard her tell my aunt that Betty was 'emotionally needy', 'unstable', and 'prickly'," said Gio.

"She said that about Betty? That's crazy. Why would she think that?"

"All I can figure is that something happened at the lunch she had with my family the day we were at Antonio's. It's the only time they were together when I wasn't there."

"I remember her that day, she was in great spirits! What did Betty say about the lunch?" asked Daniel, leaning forward eagerly, not wanting to miss a word.

Gio leaned back and paused while the waiter placed their plates in front of them.

Gio took a bite, but Daniel's curiosity finally overcame him, and he interrupted Gio to demand, "Tell me what Betty said."

Gio paused to swallow his bite, and then leaned forward to Daniel, "That same afternoon, I asked her how the lunch went and she said 'you have _no_ idea' and then later she said it was 'interesting'. After I overheard my mother saying that weird stuff to my aunt, I asked Betty about it again, and that time she said 'nothing happened' in a voice that made it clear it was a good time to change the topic," Gio lowered his voice and whispered, "What do you think it all means?"

"_Something_ happened," said Daniel, thoughtfully. "That's for sure. _Women_," he added, leaning back, and then shrugged, "Who can figure them out?"

Gio and Daniel resumed eating, silently pondering the puzzle. What could Betty have done to give Gio's mother such an improbable impression of her?

After a few minutes Gio said, "Excuse my manners, I haven't asked you about Renee, how is she?"

"Very well, thank you," said Daniel. "She's doing so well that sometimes she gets day passes and I can take her out of rehab."

"That's good to hear," said Gio, wondering what other questions were tactful to ask, in such a case. Renee, Daniel's on-again girlfriend and Wilhelmina's estranged sister, had been taken into custody after lighting Daniel's apartment on fire in a fit of jealous rage. She'd been trying to kill Betty, who had come there to warn Daniel. Paranoia, insane jealousy, and pyromania - it was an explosive combination. Not actually in 'rehab' as everyone was euphemistically calling it, Renee was locked up in a mental hospital.

"The new medication she's on is working very well, and it has only a few minor side effects," explained Daniel. "If she continues doing well then she might be released into my care soon. We're both working very hard at that."

"That's wonderful news, Daniel," said Gio.

"And I'm still looking for an apartment big enough for her, myself, Claire, and Danny," said Daniel. "My place is already tight for two people. But, it is a challenge to find something that suits everyone."

"It's hard to find anything reasonable in Manhattan," agreed Gio, nodding sympathetically.

"Yes," said Daniel, "of course, I know. Everyone knows that. But I have to please four people. It isn't just four times as hard. What I'm saying it is that it is more like 'to the _power_ of four' hard!"

"Wow, Daniel," said Gio. "To the power of four, that's amazing. Are you picking up math skills in accounting?"

"Hell, no!" said Daniel, shaking his head. "I don't think so. I do help Danny with his math homework, maybe that's it."

"In the summer?"

"He's studying with the tutor Betty found, trying to get into a good school. I'm kind of enjoying the math. Of course, I missed it all the first time," chuckled Daniel. "Unfortunately Danny's a chip off the old block, but I'm doing well."

"Hah, maybe you're finding you have a gift for numbers you never knew," said Gio.

"Maybe," said Daniel. It just occurred to him that he _was_ doing better than expected in accounting. For the first time it occurred to him that maybe he wasn't as bad with numbers as he and everyone else had thought he would be. Moreover, he'd been so engrossed with learning the accounting practices that he'd even forgotten what day Betty was returning, a day which previously, he'd been waiting anxiously for.

"So, where are you off to after this? Back to the deli?" asked Daniel.

"Yes, but I'll hit the library on the way," replied Gio.

"What are you reading these days?" asked Daniel.

"Oh, nothing," replied Gio, without thinking, "much too busy!"

"And yet, you're dropping by the library?" said Daniel tilting his head, puzzled.

"Oh, that" said Gio, "I'm just getting out some chef books. Work stuff. What are you reading these days?"

Daniel didn't answer, his face slowly turning red.

"Oh!" said Gio, "What ...? What'd I say?"

Daniel resumed eating, but then stopped and put his cutlery down, carefully patting his napkin on his lips, debating what to say, or not to say, for a reply.

The waiter, observing Daniel's movements, appeared suddenly, and asked "How is everything?"

Both assured him their meals were fine, they ordered coffee, and the waiter went away.

Daniel leaned forward, as if to speak, a fingertip resting thoughtfully on his lip.

"What?" asked Gio, his curiosity piqued.

"No. Too embarrassing!" said Daniel.

"Oh, let me guess," said Gio gleefully. "Harry Potter. A lot of adults are reading them now. Don't be embarrassed by that. I bet Danny has them all."

"Oui, tous en français. No, not Harry Potter," said Daniel.

"Twilight?" asked Gio.

"No," said Daniel. "… even worse than that."

Stumped, Gio paused and thought. What could be worse than a grown man reading Twilight novels? Gio sat, thinking. Comics? Sleazy magazines? That'd be ironic for an haute couture magazine editor.

Finally Daniel leaned over and whispered into Gio's ear.

"No!" exclaimed Gio. "I don't believe it. How did it happen?"

"They were just there. Scattered all around, a vast selection in the waiting room," explained Daniel. He was relieved to finally confess his shameful predilection to someone he trusted. "I had a few hours to wait for Renee and I couldn't help it. And now that I've read one of them, I can't stop. Gio, I'm addicted."

"Good god, Daniel, you're telling me this! Why?"

"I didn't want to, you're the one who asked," said Daniel, uncomfortable, pushing the food around on his plate with his fork.

"You're admitting you're addicted to_ Romance _novels! God, Daniel, bodice rippers, _really_?"

Daniel nodded, mutely.

"Who'd have thought it?" marveled Gio, chuckling, "I can't believe I just asked a sissy boy to be my best man!"

"Shush!" said Daniel, checking to see if other diners had heard him. "Take that back!"

"You're a wuss!" teased Gio, laughing.

"Shut up!" hissed Daniel, sitting up and raising his fist towards Gio's shoulder. "Does everyone have to know? At least Renee and I always have something to talk about. And it's not just talk, if you know what I mean. There're some good ideas in them," said Daniel, leaning back into his chair and nodding, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh," said Gio, catching his drift, grinning. "Renee likes these ideas too?"

"Yes," said Daniel. "Unlike _some_ people, _we_ are very compatible."

Meaning, Gio thought, people like Betty and me. Before he left for Rome, their mismatched sexual needs, as different as apples and oranges, had been the topic of a mortifying discussion between Daniel, Hilda and himself.

In the bedroom, Gio, hot-blooded and instantly at a fever pitch, was the opposite of sedate Betty, a demure innocent who needed lengthy foreplay to excite her libido. Not that there is anything wrong with foreplay, mused Gio. His former girlfriends, brazen party animals who wanted grabby kisses and a quick lay not a meaningful relationship, were the kind of vulgar, fun-loving women you wouldn't choose to introduce to your family, to make a home with, or to be the mother of your children.

Betty was different, special. Betty was the one woman he needed to love him, to marry him. Despite having to rein himself in constantly to match her snail's pace, discovering reserves of stamina he didn't know he possessed, he adored Betty and loved to please her. Unexpectedly, sex with her was far better than anything he'd previously experienced. Betty taught him the joy of being emotionally in tune with his partner, taking his time and savoring every moment of their lovemaking.

"But," Daniel said, "I suppose we should change the topic."

"Of course," said Gio, pulling himself out of his thoughts and putting his napkin on his empty plate.

The waiter set their cups of coffee in front of them and took Gio's plate away.

"So," said Gio, sipping his coffee, "I hear Betty's working for a chick now, and with a promotion!"

"What?" exclaimed Daniel. "Who's she working for?"

Surprised, Gio said, "Sorry, I thought it was thanks to you. I thought you arranged it! Her boss's name is Sondra Cartwright."

"Who's she?" asked Daniel, surprised too, and perplexed that he hadn't heard the name before.

Gio shrugged, "I don't really know. I didn't hear that much yet. I didn't realize you weren't up on it. She's in operations or something like that. Betty was babbling at light speed so I didn't catch all of what she said."

"Oh," said Daniel, slumping back in his chair and frowning. He had not heard anything about Betty since his interview with Wilhelmina about a week ago. The day Wilhelmina had sent him down to accounting. He didn't even know, until he bumped into Gio in the lobby, that they were back in town. His own concerns, Renee, Danny, and everything he was learning in accounting, had dominated his thoughts. Why hadn't Betty come to see him this morning? Was he a leper now? How did Wilhelmina pull that off?

"If you didn't arrange it, then who did?" asked Gio.

"Wilhelmina!" spat Daniel in disgust.

"Oh," said Gio. The fact that Wilhelmina had arranged it shed an entirely different light on the promotion. Gio wondered what Betty was thinking. He'd assumed she'd be working alongside Daniel. That's what she'd said she wanted to do. What would've made her change her mind?

"Daniel," said Gio quietly, "I know this didn't work out the way you expected. You gave us the trip to Rome and Betty was supposed to come back to work with you. It didn't happen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I owe you so much."

Lost in his thoughts, Daniel stared at his coffee cup, demoralized to find out that Betty was working for someone else, someone he didn't even know. A recent hire, he supposed. It's true, he thought, accounting _was_ Siberia. He wasn't in the loop anymore. He wasn't even close enough to the loop to know he wasn't in the loop. The fact bothered him, he sat silent, shocked, dumbfounded by the extent of his demotion, raging with fresh anger at Wilhelmina. How could it have happened? How had he been kept in the dark? Why did he let it happen?

"Daniel," said Gio, disconcerted by Daniel's distress, "I know it turned out wrong. I'll pay you back. The full cost of the trip. Just tell me what it is. I want to do it."

Daniel's mind in turmoil, he didn't see or hear Gio. He didn't acknowledge Gio's offer. He gripped his cup tightly and ignored his meal, nauseous from Wilhelmina's treachery.

"I know it's in the thousands, ten grand at least, twenty, maybe more …" continued Gio, rubbing his furrowed brow, his mind racing. He thought of the first class flights, booked at the last minute, the month of nights in their luxury hotel in the heart of Rome, Betty's new wardrobe, the restaurant tabs, and other expenses that Daniel had covered, trying to estimate each one and add them up. It was a topic he'd already decided to speak to Daniel about but he didn't know he'd be doing it today. Daniel's sudden and surprising anger, at hearing Betty's good news, was the trigger. It was a spontaneous impulse, but he was into it now and he decided to continue.

Gio didn't notice that Daniel, stewing over Wilhelmina, was not listening to him. Although mentally prepared for Betty leaving him, Daniel was shattered to find out about her new job this way - fait accompli - without even the chance to have word with her first.

Forging ahead, Gio looked down at his hands, "… I have a lot of other expenses at the moment, as you can imagine, from being away for a month - my business suffered, the salary for my replacements, a broken refrigerator and other problems."

Daniel, raging with murderous thoughts towards Wilhelmina for taking his job and Betty from him, still did not react to Gio.

Gio, unnerved by Daniel's silence and alarming expression, worked himself into a frenzy, pleading with him, "I want to pay you back right away but I have my own expenses from the trip, the engagement ring and a wedding to pay for … and a place of our own … and I want to provide for us after we're married … " He was appalled to hear himself revealing his private financial troubles but he was desperate to show Daniel he was serious about paying him back. He was good for the money, but it would take a while, he needed to explain why.

Gio, waiting a moment to let Daniel reply, but not getting one, assumed he agreed and plunged ahead.

"Daniel, I can do it if you just let me pay you over time, in installments. I'm going to take a second job so I can earn enough. If you'll sit down with me we can figure out a plan that works for both of us, and in maybe a year, two at the most, at least before the wedding, we'll be square …"

The waiter returned to pick up Daniel's plate. Hovering, waiting for Daniel's approval, he noticed they were deeply engaged in serious negotiation, so saying nothing he took Daniel's neglected plate and left.

Daniel, startled out of his thoughts by the waiter's movement, finally began to listen to Gio and said, "No. You don't have to do that. You don't have to pay me anything."

"But, I insist!" said Gio. "I have to do what's right."

"There's no obligation," said Daniel, waving his hand in front of him, palm out. "None!"

"You can't," said Gio. "I'll still owe you."

"Fine," said Daniel. "You can owe me."

Gio couldn't accept a gift of that size from Daniel, he didn't deserve it, and it wasn't right. In his youth he'd heard many Italian proverbs which taught him a debt between friends destroys the friendship. Was Daniel unaware of these proverbs? Did their friendship have no value? The sooner he dealt with the problem, the better. His pride required it.

"But the debt needs to be repaid. It has to be repaid," Gio explained vehemently, refusing to put Betty's future happiness at even the slightest risk.

"I did it for Betty, not for you," said Daniel. "I'm the one that gambled and lost. It doesn't have anything to do with you. It's water under the bridge. Forget it." He didn't pay for the trip to buy Betty's loyalty his real intention had been to reward her loyalty.

"But everything you did," exclaimed Gio, pointing at his chest with his thumb, "benefited me!"

"It was a gift, a reward for her accomplishments. That's what it was, accept it," said Daniel, irked to be arguing over such a paltry sum. "What would Betty think of me if she heard I let you pay for the trip?"

"She wouldn't know," said Gio. "I don't want her to know. This is jut between you and me. Man to man. I have to pay you back. It's a matter of honor, my honor, _Rossi_ honor."

"No! You do _not_. You don't have to pay me," said Daniel firmly, placing his hands flat on the table and shaking his head.

"You have to let me, or you're no friend of mine!" replied Gio, jerking towards him, his chair scraping on the sidewalk, his hand slapping the table. He abhorred owing Daniel such a large debt.

"No! I don't," said Daniel, upright and alert, frustrated by Gio's stubborn antiquated machismo.

"Then you're no friend of mine! You must let me repay you," growled Gio, warning Daniel with a piercing look. "You can't refuse to take my money. That's impossible."

Fuming from Wilhelmina's victory and stunned by Gio's unexpected ingratitude, Daniel jumped up, upsetting his cup, spilling coffee, flinging his napkin on the table as though it were a gauntlet.

"Well then, what if I won't take it?" asked Daniel. "Does that mean I'm not your friend now?"

Gio, tense and heated, rose to face Daniel. His integrity threatened, Gio stepped forward menacingly, and replied sharply, "A _friend_ would take the money!"

"If that's the way it is, I'm leaving!" warned Daniel stiffly, not stepping back, not intimidated, eyeing Gio to gauge his reaction.

Suddenly their waiter appeared and said in a sprightly voice, "Is there a problem here?"

Keeping his eyes focused on Gio, Daniel answered the waiter, "I don't know," and then he asked Gio, "Is there a problem here?"

Gio glared back at Daniel, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. He was shocked by the ridiculous situation. He'd been fretting about his finances and somehow his personal worries had gotten out of hand. He believed Daniel, someone who should understand him better than anyone, had insulted him by refusing his offer. A flood of violent emotions clouded his mind, offended by Daniel's insult and profoundly ashamed of lacking ready money.

The waiter looked at Gio expectantly, saying soothingly, "Sir, you'll need to sit down or I'll have to ask you to leave."

Gio, realizing that he needed to think calmly, took a deep breath. It didn't help. How could this be happening? He wanted to punch Daniel in the middle of a restaurant! He took another breath but he was still as mad as before. Daniel's insult would cause any man to fight, a gut instinct, but he should be better than that. He wasn't a fighter, he had a brain. I have a brain, thought Gio, trying to make it work, trying to force it to think rationally.

After a few moments, Daniel asked Gio, "So, am I staying or leaving? It's up to you."

Gio looked at Daniel, and made a decision. He said, as calmly as he was able, "I'm sorry, please stay and finish your coffee." He would postpone the discussion until another day.

The waiter left them to get fresh cups as Daniel and Gio sat back down, both silent for a few moments, cooling off.

Picking up his napkin and carefully arranging it on his lap, Daniel said, "Another minute and I was going to call _you_ prickly."

Gio laughed, shaking his head sheepishly, "I'm sorry I called you a sissy boy."


	5. Order the Deli Special

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 5 Order the Deli Special

Nervous and excited, Betty rode the elevator from Wilhelmina's office to Sondra's office, wondering what she was like. She'd only ever had one boss before, and that was Daniel. Everything she had learned about Sondra from Wilhelmina set her expectations high.

Busy with papers at her desk and dressed in sober business attire, Sondra, a pale woman in her mid-thirties with long sandy brown hair pulled neatly back from her face, jumped up to greet Betty warmly as soon as she entered. Polite and sincere, Sondra peppered Betty with questions and described herself until they knew each other well. The first request Sondra had for Betty was to join her for lunch so they could visit the company cafeteria together and evaluate it. Betty acquiesced readily although it meant not being able to meet with Gio.

Sondra explained to Betty that the Vice-President of operations looked after all departments to make sure that everything at the company ran smoothly. Every employee from the top echelon to the cleaning staff would be continuously evaluated and if any problems were found they were to be treated promptly, fairly and efficiently. She'd keep track of budget difficulties, cost overruns, track patterns of issues, eliminating redundancy and streamlining procedures, sometimes downsizing, right sizing, she called it, as needed. Everything at the magazine, except for things the on the artistic side, were under her purview.

Betty, as her executive assistant, would have more authority than she did in her previous job, she would sometimes be given matters to manage herself. Next to Sondra's office, Betty got her own office, and further delighting her, new business cards were already on order.

At the end of the day, as soon as Gio closed the deli, he met Betty in her new office, got a ten second tour of it, and gave her a ride home in the van. They arrived after the other Suarez's had finished dinner, so they ate the dinner that Ignacio had left them in the refrigerator and fruit salad from the deli in the kitchen, washed the dishes, and then went outside, sitting beside each other on the concrete steps in the dim light. It was a little more private outside and the air was cool and fresh.

Gio, dressed in a dark t-shirt and blue jeans, wrapped his arm around Betty's back, resting the palm of his hand on her stomach. She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted from jetlag, eyelids drooping. Betty felt pretty in the white blouse and skirt she had bought in Rome, the blouse's low-cut scoop neckline and the matching skirt's knee length hem bordered with lacy ruffled flounces.

Cuddling her, Gio said, "So, are you ready to go out dancing?"

"Dancing?" laughed Betty, roused out of her drowsiness by the absurdity of the idea. "Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah, actually I am, this is perfect here."

Scattered high above them, far above the obscuring glare of the city's lights, were spread an infinite number of galaxies, galaxies upon galaxies of stars twinkling, winking knowingly at one another.

"Yes, heavenly," murmured Betty, eyes closed, luxuriating in Gio's arms. Still bruised from Amanda's taunts that morning the warmth of his embrace was like a soothing balm, healing her.

"Betty," Gio announced, "I'm starting an exciting opportunity tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"A friend found me a position in a big hotel kitchen uptown, with a renowned chef. I'll start out as an apprentice cook but, if I'm lucky and work hard, I can eventually work my way up to sous-chef, which pays well. The position is part time, dinner service, from eight until midnight, so I don't have to give up the deli. I'll study the cooking techniques from library books and apply them under his supervision. It'll be just like going to a high-priced chef-school, but better."

"Better how?"

"They pay me, instead of me paying them! And, on top of that, a good recommendation from this chef is like money in the bank." Gio had not reached an agreement with Daniel about his debt yet, but when they talked again he was determined have more in his pocket.

"Is the deli in trouble?"

"No, not at all, this is just preparation for when I start my own restaurant, part of my five year plan."

What Gio didn't say was that the chef he'd be working for was an artist, a perfectionist, and a tyrant. Since there would be other young chefs vying to impress the chef and gain a sous-chef position, it was going to be hard work and highly competitive.

"This is the first time you've told me. Do you really have a plan or are you making it up as you go along?" asked Betty.

"It is an important part of my plan; my mentors in Rome recommended it."

"If you work every evening, when will I ever see you?"

"You can come by the deli anytime … come and order the special," Gio grinned. "And I'll have Monday nights off. That reminds me, are you free on Monday for a date?"

"Of course! But what about the weekend? What'll I do?"

"Write. Take classes. You have your own goals, now is the time to work on them," advised Gio. "Another thing has to change … my hair."

"Why?"

"This doesn't match the chef's uniform. I have to get a buzz-cut," said Gio sadly, rubbing his head, brushing his hair off his forehead.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Betty. "It was just getting longer again."

Gio leaned his head forward as Betty sat up and ran her fingers through his hair, stroking and petting him sadly. "Do you really have to?"

"Yes," sighed Gio, wishing he didn't, not wanting her to stop.

"How long will you work in the hotel kitchen?"

"A chef program usually takes about six months but this will be less concentrated so it'll take longer, maybe a year to master what I need."

"It's sad; our fairytale life in Rome is over and we're back to reality," Betty said, sagging back into Gio's arms, sighing.

"No, it isn't over, B." Gio held Betty's hand and rubbed the engagement ring with his finger. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

"No?"

"This is just the start, the beginning of our story."

"It is?"

"Yes, it's a great story, but you have to believe in me and believe in yourself, believe in _us_."

Betty gazed up pensively at Gio, wondering about the future. If Gio was going to be working two jobs for a year, when would she ever see him?

"How does it end?"

"Happily," said Gio. "I'm sure of it."

"Mmm," murmured Betty. "Tell me."

"Here's how it starts," said Gio, shifting his position so Betty lay in his arms looking up at him. "Once upon a time, there was a boy, with a mop of hair, latex hands, free heart, and smartass attitude, selling his wares, sandwiches, from a tiny cart located in the center of the universe, when, on an otherwise rather ordinary day, along came a girl, with shiny jet-black hair, metallic smile, quick wit, and a big appetite."

Betty giggled as Gio poked her stomach, her hand resting on his.

"The girl, known throughout the kingdom as the eater, bought from the unsuspecting sandwich-making boy, a smoked turkey on baguette, which unfortunately lacked the requisite number of sun-dried tomatoes to satisfy her tremendous cravings and after she politely informed him of the atrocious deficiency, the rude lunk-head inconsiderately refused to give her any more, thus enraging her."

Betty looked up at Gio, "I'm enraged?"

"Yes, but justifiably so, of course," Gio continued, petting her hair, "and in retaliation for this monstrous insult, she, without gaining his prior consent I might add, cast a diabolical spell over him and enslaved his heart, bewitching and humbling him, owning him, forevermore."

"I don't know," pouted Betty, "you make me sound kind of mean in this version."

"How about I strike the word diabolical?" offered Gio.

"No, I demand a complete rewrite!"

"Whatever you want," smiled Gio. "I've got all night. Let's see, it sounds like you would rather be a sweet-tempered fair maiden," he chuckled, "I guess that's not _too_ much of a stretch."

"Watch it, lunk-head!" laughed Betty, slapping Gio's wrist lightly, and then caressing the spot.

Gently pushing her hair back from her face, Gio leaned forward to kiss her earlobe, but before he reached it, Betty said, "I wish you could stay here tonight."

"I can't stay?" murmured Gio, pausing, listening for her response, he'd been wondering about it but didn't want to ask. He didn't want to risk making her feel uncomfortable by asking.

"No!" exclaimed Betty, giggling and flushing with embarrassment. "My bedroom is between Papi's and Hilda's rooms, so we can't, it's impossible. I could never…"

"Whatever you say," said Gio, his lips inches from hers.

"I never, uh," whispered Betty, cooling her scarlet cheek with her hand and peeking shyly up at him, "made noise, before you."

His heart bursting with tenderness, too overwhelmed to speak, Gio gazed down in wonder at her laughing eyes and blushing cheeks, captivated by her unique fusion of virginal angel and seductive enchantress.

Privacy was impossible at Gio's home too, with his tiny bedroom, too close to his parent's room, and his meddling mother already acting strangely towards Betty. Despite his own selfish wishes to the contrary, he wanted to prove to his mother that Betty was a respectable Catholic girl and therefore a fine future daughter-in-law. No, he couldn't invite her there.

Betty threaded her fingers into Gio's hair, pulling him to her lips, kissing him softly, lovingly.

Gio held her gently and kissed her back fervently, tasting her lips, her tongue, her neck, buried in the fragrance of her hair, kissing her collarbone, inching his kisses to her cleavage then plunging his tongue into its gap. The sweetness of her skin, her scent, her grasping fingers and rushing breaths, inflamed his desire and Gio imagined her flushed with passion, naked and yielding under him, wanting him, urging him on. Gio paused to shift Betty's position, slipping his hand under her blouse. It had just cradled her breast when Betty spoke.

"Hey. Whoa. You better stop while I can still think." Although reveling in his ardor, enjoying his kisses, Betty pushed Gio away.

"Okay," Gio sighed, closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath to calm himself, "I better go, long day tomorrow."

After kissing Betty goodnight, Gio walked slowly down the sidewalk and climbed into the van, buckled his seat belt and turned to look at her, luminous in her white blouse and skirt, holding his key in the ignition but not turning it.

Looking back to the van, Betty stood with her hand on the doorknob, reluctant to go in until he left.

They were deadlocked, both waiting for the other to go first. Gio briefly considered jumping out of the van and tackling Betty on the spot, smothering her with kisses until she would let him stay, but instead he pulled out his cell phone, held it up for her to see, and dialed her number. When Gio saw Betty go inside to answer his call, he started the van.

"Hello?" said Betty, wondering what Gio would say.

"Go to bed. I'll be home in five minutes. Call me and I'll sing you a lullaby," cooed Gio.

Recalling his terrible singing voice, Betty teased, "Is that a threat?"

"Ouch!" laughed Gio, loving Betty's feistiness, " … or I'll tell you a bed-time story, your choice."

"You need kids, Gio," smiled Betty.

"I know. No question, I'm really looking forward to working on that."

"Gio!" admonished Betty, pleased. "You and your one-track mind!"

"Call me?"

"I will, in five minutes," promised Betty.

Hearing a familiar song on the van's radio, Gio turned it up and sang along with it enthusiastically, serenading Betty.

"Ooo-oo-ooo, ooo-oo-ooo

Why do you build me up, build me up, Buttercup, baby

Just to let me down, let me down, and mess me around

And then worst of all, worst of all, you never call, baby

When you say you will, say you will, but I love you still

I need you, I need you, more than anyone, darlin'

You know that I have from the start

Build me up, build me up, Buttercup, don't break my heart …"

* * *

The next few days were exciting for Betty, getting to know Sondra and her new responsibilities, learning the routine. Sondra was pleased with Betty's ability and work-ethic. They talked often about their ambition and goals. Sondra had devoted her life to her work and she enjoyed sharing her point of view with Betty.

Betty saw Daniel once in a while, but it was more awkward than pleasurable to see her old boss and friend. They'd been close, too close, and now they were on unfamiliar terms, polite yet distant. Daniel talked incessantly about Renee, whom Betty still feared a little, and would show Betty boring spreadsheets of data on his computer, bragging about how much he was learning from his new assistant, Brad, who had fancy accounting credentials. Betty felt guilty from being jealous of Brad and Daniel's high praise for him rankled, which made her feel even worse. But she didn't confide this to Gio, because Daniel and Gio were close friends.

Betty often went to see her very pregnant friend Christina, who had a new assistant, Susie, a bright recent graduate of a fashion-design school. Susie, handpicked by Wilhelmina, was being trained to take over for Christina when she took time off to recover from the birth. Christina would be having Wilhelmina's baby soon and she worried constantly about it. She wanted it over, safely, and so she could sever her unholy relationship with Wilhelmina. The baby was due any day, in fact, it had been due any day for a week already.

Every day, when Betty came to his deli after the lunch rush was over, Gio would sing out 'there she is … the fiancé' and she'd smile and sit at the counter and order the special, which she joyfully discovered was the sandwich of her choice served with a side-order of kissing. And at the end of each day, after Gio got off work from the hotel kitchen, they lay in their beds talking to each other on their cell phones until they fell asleep.

* * *

"Marc! Get in here!" cried Wilhelmina from her desk.

Marc dashed into her office, yet again, wondering what emergency it was this time.

"Look at this!" said Wilhelmina, holding out a letter towards him.

"What is it?" asked Marc.

"It is from the nanny agency, they've lost my nanny. She was arrested at the airport, _smuggling_!" exclaimed Wilhelmina. "The details are in the letter. What kind of checking do these imbeciles do? I can't trust these idiots anymore. If you're going to give your baby to a woman you've never met, you expect someone to be doing their homework!"

"What are you going to do? The baby is due any day now," replied Marc.

"I know!" shouted Wilhelmina. "Find me another one!"

"I can't," said Marc, not sorry he couldn't do it. "I'm just starting on the charity competition project and there isn't much time." With confidence in his defense audible in his voice, he said, "We don't want Elle to win."

"Forget that," ordered Wilhelmina, "I'll find someone else to do it. Your top priority is to find me another nanny!"

"How?" said Marc, frightened by the prospect. Wilhelmina was notoriously hard to please and he knew a good nanny would not be easy to find, especially one that could start right away.

"What do you think I pay you for? Figure it out!" said Wilhelmina with icy fury, pointing to the door. "It is not like _I_ can take time off to care for the brat; my enemies would have a field day!"


	6. A Frosting of Frothy Tulle

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 6 A Frosting of Frothy Tulle

Betty jumped up in surprise and delight when her new business cards were delivered a few days later. Quickly unpacking them she immediately tucked several into her purse to give away to everyone, and laid a few out on her desk to admire. Decorated with the magazine's stylish logo, they said, "Betty Suarez, Executive-Assistant to the Vice President of Operations, Mode Magazine."

Betty was no longer distressed that she was not working for Daniel. Sondra was an excellent boss and she was as good at her job as Wilhelmina had predicted. Betty came to realize how much more useful work she could do when her workday wasn't disrupted by damage control and fixing the problems that Daniel caused.

Sondra invited Betty into her office to show off her new cards. Sondra had new cards also and she gave one to Betty.

"Look here," said Sondra, standing up and taking her diploma, from the ivy-league school Yale, off of the wall. She laid it upside down on her desk.

"See, these are all my cards," explained Sondra. Attached to the back of the diploma, were about two dozen business cards, for various companies, each one with a higher ranking position. "You should bring in your diploma from Queens College and attach your cards to the back of it too."

Sondra urged Betty to set objectives and to work her way up the ladder at work, like she did, and told her that leaving behind coworkers and bosses, even beloved ones like Daniel, was a necessary evil. Sondra had moved companies several times, moving to different cities, taking all the opportunities she could get to get ahead. Sondra praised Betty for delaying her wedding plans in favor of her career. Betty looked up to Sondra as a wise mentor and took all her advice to heart.

"It's a man's world," said Sondra. "You've got to do a hundred and fifty percent to get the recognition you deserve. Unfortunately, that's just the way it is for women. Life's not fair. The last thing you want to do right now is ruin your career by bogging yourself down with a husband and kids."

Betty was fascinated by Sondra's life experience. For the first time she started to question her desire to get married to Gio right away. It hadn't occurred to her before that getting married to Gio could ruin her career.

"You're saying a woman can't you have both a family and a career?" asked Betty.

"You can try it," replied Sondra, "if you want to get on the 'mommy track', but no one wants that."

"What's the 'mommy track'?"

"That's when they don't offer you a promotion, not because you aren't good enough, but because they _think_ you don't want it due to family responsibilities."

"That isn't fair," said Betty. "A woman should have the opportunity to decide if they wanted the promotion or not."

"You don't have to tell me," said Sondra. "As I said, life isn't fair. The best thing to do is to focus on your career first and leave the rest for later. There's time for all that later."

"But isn't that like giving up?" asked Betty. "Shouldn't you _try_ to have both, if that's what you want?"

"No, you have to work hard for success because no one is going to hand it to you."

"But is it really success?" asked Betty. "Shouldn't success be getting what _you_ want? Husband, kids and a career too, if that is what you really want?"

"No Betty, you have to be realistic," replied Sondra, "or you'll just end up nowhere."

Sondra lived alone in a tiny high-rent New York coop apartment, but not quite alone, she had three pets, a pair of dogs and a cat, which she described in minute detail like a mother would her children.

When she told the story about how she got started on her career, Betty discovered that Sondra came from a small town in Puerto Rico, puzzling her.

"You don't look Puerto Rican," said Betty.

"That's because I'm not," said Sondra. "I'm American. My parents moved from California to Aguadilla when they graduated from teacher's college, before I was born. They originally meant to teach there for a couple of years but ended up falling in love with the town and never left. They're still there, but retired now. They love it for the beautiful weather, the beaches, the friendly people, and the relaxed lifestyle. They're always saying it's just like living in a resort."

"I've never heard of it, but it sounds nice," said Betty.

"Do you know Carlos Delgado?" asked Sondra.

"No," answered Betty.

"You haven't heard of him, the famous baseball player?"

"No," said Betty, feeling clueless. She didn't like sports, and didn't follow baseball.

"Ah, well anyway, he plays for the Mets, he was in my class at school, we grew up together," said Sondra. "He's from Aguadilla, and his wife is too. They live there when he's not playing ball. But I always wanted out. I grew up dreaming of living in a big city. Getting into Yale was my first-class ticket out of nowheres-ville." Sondra stood up and hung her diploma back on the wall. "I love this job and my new apartment. I _love_ New York!"

Sondra looked out her office window and described her trendy apartment and all the exciting things she looked forward to doing in the city.

"But I go back every chance I get, to visit my family and friends," continued Sondra, sitting back down at her desk. "I have to visit my friends from high school, of course, my best friend Carmen, Bungee, and the rest."

"Bungee?"

"His real name is Bruce, but everyone calls him Bungee, he got the nickname as a toddler when he started to walk because of his energy - he's like a spring. He's deputy fire chief in Aguadilla, just one step away from his goal of being head of the fire and rescue department. I have his picture here."

Sondra reached into her desk, rummaged around and pulled out a couple of pictures.

"This one is Carmen and her three children, an eight-year-old girl and twin boys, five years old. Those kids are so sweet, I love them to pieces."

Sondra handed the other picture to Betty. It showed a fire truck, with a handsome muscular man sitting at the wheel, and beside him was Sondra, her sandy brown hair bleached from the sun, her nose freckled, her arm wrapped playfully around the man's neck, grinning and waving gaily towards the camera.

"Aww, he's your high school sweetheart, he's cute," said Betty, assuming from Sondra's pose that Bungee must be her boyfriend.

"No, he's just a friend!" Sondra blushed, protesting, "I mean, yes, he's good-looking."

"I'm sorry," said Betty, giving his picture back to her, embarrassed to be prying into Sondra's personal life.

"We can't be more than friends," said Sondra, gazing at his picture. "I'll never go back there and he'll never move away, so we're incompatible."

Betty wondered if she could detect a trace of wistfulness in Sondra's voice beneath her steady matter-of-fact tone.

"He always asks me to marry him, proposing to me when I go for a ride in his fire truck, but we both know it's just a joke, we laugh. He has to give up on me ever moving back," said Sondra, putting the pictures back in her desk. She stood up, turning her back to Betty to straighten the diploma. "He always warns me that one day he'll stop waiting for me and we both laugh about that too."

Sondra sat down at the desk and looked at Betty, "But I'm not going to give up my career for him, not for anyone. Why should I? Why should _I_ be the one? You know, the thing about Mode that really impressed me and attracted me, is the fact Wilhelmina is in charge. It's so wonderful to see a woman achieve what she has, working her way up, earning all her promotions, making no compromises. Everyone I've spoken to tells me that she has single-handedly transformed this magazine since she took over. People are much more focused and productive than they were before. Yes, she's got it _all_. I admire her so much."

Hearing this, Betty's impression of Sondra changed. Betty thought Sondra misjudged Wilhelmina, but she didn't say anything, she'd never do that. But she wondered just how long Sondra would continue to admire Wilhelmina the way she did now.

* * *

Later that day, Wilhelmina called an emergency meeting about the charity competition and seated around the table in the meeting room were Christina, Daniel, Sondra, Betty, and Susie. As they waited for her Susie put an oversized portfolio, thick with drawings, on the table. Soon Wilhelmina swept into the room followed by Marc, his arms loaded with a stack of binders.

"I've called you all here because I need to reorganize the team on this project," said Wilhelmina, "Marc was leading it, under my direction, but unfortunately he is urgently required on another task of uncertain duration."

Wilhelmina stood tall at the head of the table and glanced around the room with piercing eyes, taking stock of everyone. Marc set the binders on the table and seated himself to her right.

At Wilhelmina's left hand sat Christina, looking like she could give birth any minute, making her wonder if she'd even make it to the end of the meeting.

Beside Christina, Daniel looked serious, preoccupied. Probably thinking about Renee, Wilhelmina guessed, she was due to get out of rehab soon. Daniel seemed to enjoy taking every opportunity of parading her around the office, as if he wanted to be sure to remind everyone that she, Wilhelmina, had a nut-case for a sister. Who could have guessed that so soon after cleaving Daniel from Betty he'd find another support? How weak was he, that even a certifiably insane woman was a pillar next to him? It boggled the mind, and drove her crazy. Not that anyone would think there was anything wrong with _her_ mental faculties, far from it; she was at the top of her game. No doubt Daniel would break up with Renee eventually, probably sooner than later, like he did with all his paramours, and when he did, it wouldn't be a moment too soon.

Next, Wilhelmina turned her attention to Sondra. She was turning out well, even surpassing her high expectations, a gem.

Betty, seated beside Sondra, already appeared devoted to Sondra. Wilhelmina sensed the diminishing attachment between Betty and Daniel. She noted that they were not even seated beside each other as they would invariably have done before. It certainly appeared that their split was complete, a thought that pleased her.

And beside Betty was Susie. She had definite promise. A superb designer with such low self-esteem she was glad when Wilhelmina bought her designs for much less than they were worth. Handling Susie needed a deft touch, it required a combination of weak compliments and subtle put-downs; luckily exactly sort of thing that was Wilhelmina's forte.

"Time is short," said Wilhelmina to the group. "There are only three weeks until the reveal of our competition entry. We'll be judged on many aspects of it, so it needs to be sophisticated and polished. I want it to be something that everyone at Mode can be proud of."

Of course, what she really meant was that it had to be a winner. Born with a colossal competitive spirit, Wilhelmina not only wanted to win, she wanted to thrash Elle soundly.

"But you need to be aware that this competition has a complex set of rules, which Marc will presently explain."

"I've asked Daniel here to represent the finance and accounting departments. The competition requires a complete and transparent audit of all expenditures; this is crucial to keeping it fair. Daniel will be the top level person assigned to the very important task of creating this report, which will be submitted to the judges."

Marc glanced with surprise at Wilhelmina, when he heard her assign the report to Daniel, caught off guard by her choice. Didn't she think that Daniel was incompetent? Marc glanced at Daniel, noting his unconcerned expression. Didn't he know that he was out of his depth?

"Yes," agreed Daniel readily, "I'll take charge of the report. In fact, I plan to put my own personal spin on it to really impress them."

"Good," replied Wilhelmina, returning Marc's glance with one that he couldn't read.

"Now, keep in mind that everything should be done with the utmost secrecy. Nothing about our entry is to be discussed with anyone until after the competition takes place. And all work will take place off site. I have not invited anyone extra to this meeting to help keep our entry as quiet as possible. Marc, pull the blinds."

Once the room was blocked off from view, Wilhelmina instructed Susie to put up her drawings. She opened her portfolio and set up several large detailed sketches of models wearing exquisite and elaborate wedding dresses.

"These gowns," said Wilhelmina, "are from Susie's design portfolio. I believe they represent the highest of haute couture. I plan to show them under the Slater line; they'll be the signature pieces of my new collection."

Susie smiled, pleased by Wilhelmina's gracious praise for her designs.

"Our entry for the competition," said Wilhelmina, pausing for emphasis, "will be a lavish fashion show to reveal to the world these gowns, and the whole Slater line of Susie's designs, for the very first time."

Betty gazed at the dresses, awestruck. Each design more beautiful than the next, one dress, one _perfect_ dress, stood out above the rest. It had a white silk heart shaped bodice dotted with tiny pearls and the full skirt below it bubbled and floated to the floor, decorated with a frosting of frothy tulle. The meeting room fading from her attention, Betty tried to imagine her face replacing the model's face. She imagined looking down at her left hand, extended in front of her, poised above the tulle cloud, just below her bosom, gift-wrapped in gorgeous silk and pearls, trembling in anticipation, waiting for Gio to slip the wedding band on to her finger. She'd quit eating forever – she would do _anything_ - without a second thought, if only she could wear that dress on her wedding day.

"Betty … Betty?" Wilhelmina's voice slowly penetrated into Betty's consciousness, as though coming from a great distance. Betty, tearing her eyes away from the drawing of the gown, looked blankly at her.

"… I'm asking you to take charge of this Betty," said Wilhelmina, "Sondra will help you, we'll all help you … I need to know if you have any questions."

Christina, Daniel, Sondra, Susie, Marc and Wilhelmina were all staring at Betty.

"Oh, uh …" said Betty, delaying, trying to think of a question. "How does this fashion show help the charity?"

"Good question," replied Wilhelmina, nodding her head. "Marc, please explain."

Marc explained the competition. Each company in the competition had been randomly matched to a specific charity and they had to invent a plan to assist the charity in some way. The benefit to the charity would be evaluated by the judges, based on several criteria, and the results would be announced at a wrap-up fundraising gala to be held in a few weeks, at the end of August.

The charity that Mode had been twinned with was the Regal Park Refugee Teens at Risk Program. Between fifteen and twenty teens were enrolled in the program at any given time, and they would need to be involved in Mode's plan.

"Regal Park, that sounds nice," said Christina, a fairly recent arrival from Scotland and not yet familiar with all of New York's neighborhoods.

"Oh, no," said Marc, as everyone else in the room gaped in disbelief at Christina. "It's neither a park nor regal. It's a very bad neighborhood. These teens, the worst of the worst, live in the projects, and they came here from even worse conditions in their home countries. Sometimes the kids are from the same war-torn country but from opposite sides of the conflict. Their English skills are often non-existent. It was a big challenge to figure out how to utilize them."

Wilhelmina's plan was to set up a dress factory in an unused Meade building in the garment district, which was close to Regal Park, and teach the teens to do embroidery, beading and other hand sewing required for the wedding dresses. The line required a lot of handwork and they would become skilled at it and benefit from the publicity of the competition. And in a few months Mode would put out a wedding issue featuring the competition, the dresses, and the charity. It was a win-win situation.

Betty, excited by the possibility of being in charge of the manufacture of the wedding dresses, imagined seeing them, being there with them, watching them as they came to life, touching the opulent fabrics. But she was troubled by the competition plan. It seemed like the teens were being exploited. She empathized with the teens and she wanted to help them, she wanted to do more for them than just teach them a low class skill like sewing which seemed to benefit Wilhelmina more than it did them. English lessons, for a start, seemed like a better idea to her.

"With this plan, are we really helping the charity enough?" asked Betty. "Can't we do more for them than this?"

"Maybe we could auction off a dress or two at the fashion show," suggested Sondra.

"How much are they worth?" asked Betty, holding her breath, dying to know, but afraid to find out.

"Oh, around thirty and up," said Wilhelmina, observing Betty's expression.

"Thirty?" asked Betty, puzzled, not knowing what she meant.

"Thirty thousand dollars," replied Wilhelmina, smiling inside, happy to discover another carrot in Betty's world, filing it away for the future, should she ever happen to need it.

"Oh," said Betty, dumbfounded, crushed. She felt like an idiot. They were so expensive, way out of her price range. These dresses were not for her, not for ordinary girls like her. But at least she could still see them being made. And she could help the teens. That appealed to her, even though she was not fully reconciled to the plan, which seemed to her to be verging on unethical.

At the end of the meeting after everyone aside from Marc and Wilhelmina had departed the room, Marc asked, "Why did you put Daniel in charge of the financial report? Everyone's eyes will be on it."

"Exactly," said Wilhelmina, laughing a long, cruel, satisfied laugh. "Marc, my pretty young thing, you have so much to learn. Have you not heard of an old expression? You just saw me give someone enough rope to hang himself."


	7. Drunk on Liquid Numbers

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 7 Drunk on Liquid Numbers

Daniel slept fitfully one night a few days after the meeting, restlessly tossing and turning, disturbed by vivid dreams. A few times he had to retrieve his sheets from the floor, where he had kicked them, laying himself back down and trying to settle into a deep sleep. He wanted to do well on the charity audit report and he needed to be rested. He'd made a mistake and stayed up late studying the binders filled with the rules and regulations of the reports, reading them right up until he'd gone to bed, but he didn't want to put them down and lost track of time.

At first he thought he was flying then he realized he was dancing. He was in a circle of stomping, clapping people surrounding a dancer, a beautiful woman, with long, flowing black hair and swirling skirt. Everyone cheered and whooped in time with the exotic and entrancing music, a sound unlike any music he'd heard before. The woman beckoned to Daniel, urging him to join her, and the others pushed him forward onto the dance floor, he felt many hands on his back pushing him towards her, and the music grew louder, ringing in his ears, and the woman turned around and around, her black skirt circling seductively, snapping her fingers in a flamenco rhythm. As Daniel got closer to her he could see her dress was made of lace, and the lace was a series of holes, alternately hiding and revealing her lithe body, lying partly obscured beneath the fabric. The closer he got to her, the more fascinating the holes became, and they expanded, and then he saw the holes turn into cells, and the cells fill with numbers. The woman morphed into a spreadsheet and he was reading it, figuring out its mystery, discovering the story it held. Then he jumped straight up, up high above the dancers, and dove down into a cool, dark, silent pool, a pool made of numbers, swimming through the liquid numbers with strong and powerful strokes, descending, not needing to breathe, into the still, serene depths.

Daniel awoke to the sound of his alarm, refreshed, the dream clear in his memory. As he stood before his shaving mirror he thought of the woman and the spreadsheet that she became, and the mystery he was tantalizingly close to solving. He felt good and decided to wear the baby blue dress shirt that Renee had bought for him, because the color matched his eyes, reminding him of her. Soon, he thought to himself, she'd be here to wake up with him, every day, and he was ready.

The dream stayed vibrant in his mind as he prepared for work, humming to himself, thinking about it, puzzling over what it meant. As he gathered up the binders to take with him he realized he was feeling something new, something that he wasn't used to feeling - he was looking forward to the day. He wanted to open the binders and learn what was in them. He was learning advanced numerical skills from the ace tutor that Betty had found for Danny, now his tutor also, and Brad was teaching him accounting. He noticed he was thinking a lot about work, reading about work, and even dreaming about work, and it felt right. He checked his tie on his way out the door and smiled to his mirror image, happy, invigorated, knowing what he wanted to do and that he was capable of doing it.

* * *

That same morning Wilhelmina arrived at her office to find Marc already sitting at his desk.

"Hello Marc," greeted Wilhelmina, uncharacteristically pleasantly. "Any luck discovering the chief judge's name?"

"Yes," replied Marc, eagerly digging a paper out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Of course, this is confidential. It was a delicate operation to obtain it without raising any suspicions. No one is supposed to know who he is until the night of the gala and the contest winner is revealed."

"Of course," said Wilhelmina. "Naturally, it was difficult but I knew I could trust you with this task. Marc, your cleverness will not go unrewarded."

She unfolded the paper, pursing her lips into a frown, as she read the note which consisted solely of two handwritten words: _Monsieur Barnard_.

"Not a friend?" asked Marc, leaning forward to examine her grim expression.

"No," Wilhelmina spat in disgust. "We are acquainted, but not in a good way." Then her lips suddenly curled into a satisfied smile. "No, not friends, but I happen to have a very _interesting_ file on him. And that may be even better for my purpose, I mean … _our_ purpose."

"And what, exactly, is that?" asked Marc, his eyes gleaming.

"It's best you don't know anymore than you already do," said Wilhelmina. "In fact, you better forget you ever saw this paper."

"Consider it done!" exclaimed Marc, turning briskly to the work on his desk.

"Now, any progress on the nanny situation?"

Reluctantly, Marc replied, "No," fearing her wrath. "Unfortunately not, but I'm still on it, I'm giving it my full attention, everything it deserves, I assure you."

Marc pulled his phone towards him, shuffled papers on his desk, and tapped his pen, hoping to look busy, too busy for her to pester him with any more questions. He had results but not of the kind he wished to report to Wilhelmina until she was distracted by some other emergency of greater importance, and most importantly, an emergency that was caused some other unlucky victim.

"You've tried the other nanny agencies?"

"Of course, but nothing coming up there, you know, short notice and all that," lied Marc.

"And placed advertisements in all the papers?"

"Yes, every single one. And they have come out. They've been out for a few days. I'm following up on all calls, oh, I may have a couple more here," said Marc, pushing a few more papers around, desperate to get rid of Wilhelmina.

"Marc," said Wilhelmina, frowning, her eyes boring into him, increasing his discomfort. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Marc gulped, and smiled weakly. He felt sweat forming but resisted the urge to wipe his forehead. "Why do you say that?"

"This isn't supposed to be that hard, especially for someone as clever as you. What's really going on?"

"It's just taking a bit longer than expected. It's nothing I can't handle, if you'll just give me some more time."

"Marc," said Wilhelmina crossly. "Time is what we don't have. That baby is about to pop out any minute. You're not telling me something. Let's hear it!"

"Well, uh," said Marc, bracing himself.

"Spit it out!" ordered Wilhelmina.

"It seems that it'd be easier to find domestic help for Naomi Campbell than for you, Wilhelmina Slater. You are well known, and I mean, that's the problem."

"Well thank you for sharing that piece of non-information," replied Wilhelmina sarcastically. "Of course, I considered there might be issues. I supposed I may have a reputation, however unearned it is, but we just have to work within those constraints."

Wilhelmina sat down on a corner of Marc's desk and in response he rolled his chair away a few inches, as if avoiding an impending slap.

"We have to think outside the box," continued Wilhelmina thoughtfully. "I suppose we could try a few of my friends. My best friend as you know, the dear, lovely and talented Victoria Beckham, has more nannies than boys, and she has three of them! Surely she could spare a nanny to her best friend, in my time of dire need."

"It isn't quite like borrowing a cup of sugar," said Marc. "And in any case, I tried, I begged, I humiliated myself thoroughly. I groveled, if you care to know. You'd be proud. But still no dice. Sorry."

"How quickly friendships fade," said Wilhelmina angrily, clenching her fists.

"I think the screaming match you two had at your aborted wedding may have influenced her negatively," said Marc diplomatically.

"Okay, forget that," said Wilhelmina, pausing and thinking again. "I hate to suggest it, but why don't we use the nanny agency that got us the smuggling nanny. They obviously have a few problems with quality control, but desperate times call for desperate measures. At least they got me one."

"Tried it," said Marc, "nothing's happening there."

"What do you mean?" asked Wilhelmina.

"I think the blistering letter you sent them after the smuggling nanny fiasco made your move to their ex-client list irrevocable. And apparently they've told all the others about it too."

"Damn them. Is there _anything_ we haven't tried?" cried Wilhelmina in frustration.

"I was wondering about Christina, any chance of getting her?" asked Marc.

"No," replied Wilhelmina. "I did suggest it but she's firmly against it. After the baby is born she wants nothing to do with me or it, and she has said so in no uncertain terms, in not very lady-like terms, actually."

"Oh," said Marc, nodding as sympathetically as he could.

"What about the calls you said you were going to make?" asked Wilhelmina. "You said you have a few more to do."

"Not really. Anyway, every time they hear who the employer is they drop out," said Marc grimly. "I'm not optimistic."

Wilhelmina slammed her fist on the desk making Marc jump. "God damn it, is there not one living soul in New York who hasn't heard of me?"

* * *

On Monday morning, eagerly looking forward to her date with Gio, Betty was in Sondra's office discussing the charity competition. Betty was unhappy with the plan and wanted to consider other options that were more beneficial, to the teens and the charity, than the one devised by Wilhelmina and Marc. Sondra was sympathetic to Betty's reservations and they debated ideas for new plans. Sondra encouraged Betty to investigate a new plan and to pitch it to Wilhelmina.

Betty's phone rang and she walked over to her desk to answer it.

"May I speak to Summer Cartwright?" asked a man's voice.

"There's no called Summer here, do you mean Sondra Cartwright?" asked Betty.

"Oh yeah I forgot, yes, that's her, can I speak with her? It's urgent," he said.

"Yes sir, may I ask who is calling?" replied Betty.

"Bruce Rodriguez," he answered. He was breathing hard and sounded stressed.

Betty put the call on hold and got Sondra on the other line.

"There's a Bruce Rodriguez on the line, will you take it now? He says it's urgent."

"Bungee!" exclaimed Sondra, looking for her cell phone. "Why would he call my office phone? He has my cell number! Dang, the battery is dead again." She plugged the cell phone into the charger.

"Is Summer your nickname?" asked Betty.

"Hah, no," laughed Sondra. "Summer is my real name. I took Sondra when I started at Yale because I wanted to be taken seriously. Go ahead and put Bungee through, but don't go away, we'll continue our meeting about the competition in a minute."

Betty sat at her desk and opened the binder Marc had given her about the charity. The door between Sondra's office and hers was open and she could see Sondra and hear her side of the phone conversation.

"Hello Bungee, it's so nice you called. What's up?" asked Sondra casually, pausing to listen to his response.

"What? What happened?" exclaimed Sondra, putting her hand to her mouth, listening intently.

"Oh no, oh no," groaned Sondra, obviously distressed by his answer.

Betty thought she should shut the door since the conversation seemed to be very personal. She was ashamed to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help being curious and she could tell that Sondra didn't notice her listening.

"When?" asked Sondra, listening to a lengthy reply from Bungee.

"Of course I will," said Sondra. "I'll be on the next flight. Yes, I can hold."

Sondra rubbed her palm on her forehead and stood up, got her purse out of a drawer and put it on the top of her desk. Then she waited, staring at her purse, jiggling the keys in her hand nervously.

"No problem," said Sondra after a few minutes of waiting. "I better let you go. I'll call you as soon as I'm at the airport."

"Talk to her, tell her I'm coming," said Sondra, her eyes filling with tears. "They say they can still hear your voice even when you can't tell."

"Of course, darling, I know you know all that. Talk to you soon," said Sondra and she slowly hung up the phone, standing still, stunned.

'He's just a friend,' Betty recalled Sondra saying, _yeah, right, _someone's suffering from a major case of denial. Betty looked at the binder in front of her, pretending to read it, pretending that she hadn't heard anything.

Sondra picked up her purse, putting the cell phone, its charger, and her keys into it, and walked to Betty's desk.

"Betty, I need you to find someone to house-sit my apartment immediately," said Sondra.

Betty looked up and was shocked by the miserable look on Sondra's face, "How about me? Can I do it?"

"Thank god, Betty, thank you, you're a life saver! Leave that, we have to go right now."

Betty grabbed her purse and chased after Sondra, who was already striding towards the elevators.

"I'll explain everything you need to know about the apartment, the dogs, the cat, on the way," said Sondra as she slammed the button for the elevator, hitting it harder and harder. Fortunately it came quickly and they were soon on the street climbing into a cab. Sondra had a handkerchief in her hand and she was dabbing her eyes.

"What happened?" asked Betty. "Where are you going? How long will you be gone? Sorry if I'm being rude, don't answer anything you don't want to."

"It's Carmen," choked Sondra. "She's been in a diving accident. She was scuba diving and ran out of oxygen or something. She's unconscious. Bungee was part of the first rescue crew on the scene. They're on the way to the hospital. He called from the ambulance."

Betty put her arm around Sondra and patted her back, not knowing what else to do.

Sondra raised the handkerchief to her face, sobbing into it, "Betty, she may not make it."

Sondra didn't say anything more until they reached her apartment building. It was a nice building in a classy neighborhood near a subway stop and an easy walking distance to the Meade building. Sondra's apartment, on the twelfth floor, was small but elegant, comfortably furnished, and had a good view. The apartment had four rooms, a small combined living and dining room, a tiny kitchen, a tiny bedroom, and a bathroom. After showing it to Betty and telling her to make herself at home, Sondra pulled out a piece of luggage and started taking clothes out of the closet, explaining the coop rules while she packed.

There were rules forbidding loud music, loitering in the hallways, pets not on leashes, dogs barking, and many other things. Sondra gave Betty a binder of rules about the apartment and the phone numbers for her dog-walker Sam, and her cleaning woman Sarah. Betty added Sam's, Sarah's, Sondra's parents' and Bungee's phone numbers into her cell phone.

Sondra warned Betty about the dog barking rule repeatedly since the coop board had already received one written complaint from her finicky next-door neighbor about her young terrier Banjo's barking and she needed to avoid any more complaints or she'd be in trouble. Her other dog, an elderly pug named Pugsly, was quiet and her fluffy white cat, Mittens, was also no problem. Since the dog-walker would take care of all the pets' needs, there was really nothing Betty needed to do for them other than to keep them company at night.

Betty thought the animals were adorable and they seemed to like her too. Mittens meowed loudly, continually threading and weaving around her ankles until she thought she might trip over him. Pugsly and Banjo followed them everywhere, sniffing Betty's legs and shoes intently whenever she stood still.

"I can't believe you got a complaint about barking," said Betty. "They've hardly made a sound since I got here."

"You don't know them," said Sondra. "Banjo can be really noisy when provoked, and once he starts up then Pugsly chimes in. And Mittens wants to run into the hallway whenever the door is open. I'm serious about following the rules. The three of them can be a handful, so be prepared. I'm really afraid of the power of the coop board. Because I'm new, I have to be extra careful. Too many complaints and I either have to give them away or _move_! You must understand how hard it is to find a nice place like this that allows pets."

Sondra petted her cat and kissed the dogs, sad to be leaving them, "I couldn't live without them Betty, these are my babies. So please, please, don't let them be bad. If they give you any trouble call Sam, anytime of the day. He's a top-rated dog trainer, a genuine dog-whisperer. He had superb recommendations, I was lucky to get him."

When Sondra was ready to leave for the airport she showed Betty how to use the locks, locked up the apartment, and gave her the key. Saying she would call as soon as she knew anything, Sondra hugged Betty and jumped into a cab.

Betty headed back to work, and although sad for Sondra, she was jubilant to have a place of her own and eager to tell Gio. And it was Monday! Gio's night off, it was perfect. She planned leave work early, pick up some clothes from home, and meet Gio at Sondra's apartment for dinner at eight, right after he closed the deli.

Knowing she'd have a hard time concentrating at work, counting down the hours to their date, she decided that instead of going back to her desk she would visit the program in Regal Park so she could meet the refugee teens and talk to the organizer about her ideas for the competition.


	8. A Very Rare Tbone Steak

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 8 A Very Rare T-bone Steak

Betty climbed up the steps from the Regal Park subway stop into the bright summer sunshine and immediately felt the difference from Sondra's neighborhood, where she had boarded the subway car with several business-suited yuppies, carrying attaché cases and reading Newsweek. Here, several men wearing oversized New York Giants jerseys were chatting idly around the subway stairwell in front of the Regal Park convenience store, its formerly handsome wooden façade marred by heavy metal grills covering every square inch of its windows.

Sweating from the heat, wishing for shade, she saw the quickest way to the charity was through the middle of a small park beside the convenience store, one block long, between rows of rundown brick buildings covered with graffiti and dirty back alleys with overflowing dumpsters. Marc was wrong when he said there was no park, but he was right that it wasn't regal. Even though the park didn't look very pleasant she was glad to be able to cut through it because the other way would add a couple of blocks.

Betty walked to the park's entrance, about half a block down the street, passing through a group of young men standing on the sidewalk, greeting each other by slapping hands and swearing loudly. It was the middle of a week day and Betty wondered why they were not at work. She could see the park's path meandering around several low knolls, the grass brown and folded flat onto the sandy ground, leading past a single large tree in the middle of the park, to the street on the other side.

Several young children were shouting and running about, raising clouds of dust. Tasting grit in the stifling air, Betty wondered where their mothers were and scanned the park but didn't see them anywhere. She walked towards the large tree, a huge old oak, with wide, sheltering branches, thick with dusty leaves, casting deep shade on a park bench, on which sat an old man feeding squirrels. He wore a red plaid flannel shirt and green pants, and had fuzzy white hair and a beard.

As Betty approached the bench she could see one small squirrel was sitting on it beside the man, taking seeds and nuts from his outstretched palm. The man remained frozen still, looking at the squirrel and holding his arm steady. Walking quietly, so she wouldn't disturb them, Betty watched the squirrel, its grey bushy tail waggling and its eyes clear and bright, as it reached out a tiny paw and delicately selected a peanut from the man's hand. When she reached the bench she stopped still, captivated by the charming scene.

"You're new," said the man, looking intently at the squirrel's face.

Betty was fascinated the man could recognize a squirrel that he hadn't seen before and continued to stare at the pair until the squirrel suddenly pushed the peanut into its bulging cheek and scampered away and up into the oak tree.

"You're new," the man repeated, turning to look at Betty.

"Oh," replied Betty, startled. She didn't think he'd noticed her. "I guess I'm new. I've never been to this park before."

"I know everyone around here, but I don't know you," he said.

"I'm visiting," said Betty, not sure why she wanted to explain herself. "I'm looking for the Regal Park Refugee Teens at Risk program. Do you know where it is?"

"Just over there," he said, pointing to a decrepit brick building on the far edge of the park. "Right there."

"Thank you," replied Betty, turning to go.

"Can you donate some money for squirrel food?" the man asked, holding out and rattling a tin can with a paper sign taped on it that read 'Nick's squirrel fund'.

"Sure, Nick," replied Betty. Nick didn't seem like an ordinary pan-handler so she pulled the wallet out of her purse and gave him a few dollars, more than she would normally hand out.

"And you are?" asked Nick.

"My name is Betty," she replied.

"Pleased to meet you, Betty. Thank you for helping the squirrels. Have a nice day."

"You're welcome," said Betty and she continued walking, thinking the man looked like Saint Nicholas because of his red and green clothes and white hair and beard.

Soon reaching the building where the charity was located, Betty stood in the lobby and waited for the elevator that would take her to the office on the third floor, the top floor of building. There was no air conditioning so the building was very warm. She waited a couple of minutes, alone in the empty lobby, wondering what was holding it up for so long. She considered walking up but she was early, she didn't want to become sweatier than she already was before meeting the charity organizer, and she reasoned that it had to come any second since there were so few floors. Eventually a gangly boy, who looked about fourteen, wearing a baseball hat and black hooded sweatshirt, entered the building from the street and saw Betty standing in front of the elevator door. She wondered why he was wearing a hat and heavy sweatshirt on such a hot day, but all the boys seemed to dress like that.

"It broke," said the boy to Betty.

"How do you know? There's no out-of-order sign," replied Betty.

"Always broke," he shrugged, turning to enter the stairwell.

"Thanks," said Betty and she followed him into the stairwell, even hotter than the lobby, climbing up the dusty steps with him. With each step the temperature grew warmer.

"Where you going?" asked the boy when he saw her climb past the second floor exit.

"To see Mrs. Brown," said Betty.

The boy walked with Betty down the third floor corridor to Mrs. Brown's office, leaned in the open door, and said, "A lady."

"Thanks, Flash," said Mrs. Brown, looking up from the files on her desk. "Come in!"

Betty entered, as the boy stood aside and continued down the hall, reaching out to shake hands with Mrs. Brown, "Hello, I'm Betty Suarez, from Mode Magazine."

"Oh, I was expecting someone else," said Mrs. Brown, a tired looking middle-aged woman, pulling a paper out of a file, "a Marc St. James?"

Betty sat in an old wooden chair opposite her desk, "I'm replacing Marc. He got called off onto something else."

"Hmm," murmured the woman, looking Betty up and down doubtfully.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Brown," said Betty. "I should have called to let you know I was replacing Marc."

"No, that's okay. Please, call me Fiona," she replied. "It's just that I thought they were sending a man. I don't know if you'll be able to handle the kids."

"I love kids," said Betty. "I'm sure we'll get along great."

Fiona shook her head at Betty's naïve optimism, "These are not regular teens these kids have serious problems. Did you read the binder of information about our program I gave to Marc?"

That was the binder that was open on her desk, the one she wasn't reading when she was eavesdropping on Sondra's phone call.

Betty, ashamed she hadn't read it, said, "No, not yet, but I intend to read it."

Fiona looked at Betty thoughtfully, disappointed, "Many of these kids have suffered from appalling conditions where they came from. That they are in fractured and dysfunctional families is a given. They may have seen armed conflicts - relatives maimed, raped or killed - been malnourished, never attended school. Then they come to New York to live in squalid housing and go to substandard schools. They are susceptible to dropping out of school, using drugs, joining gangs, committing crimes, living on the street, violence, prostitution. The list goes on."

Fiona gave Betty a harsh look, "What qualifications do you have for working with teens such as these?"

Betty, taken aback by Fiona's nightmarish description, replied, "None, I confess." She recalled her inability to get the ordinary kids at the junior high dance to even talk to her. But she cared about these kids and they needed help. "I want to help them. Please let me try."

"Well, you are different," said Fiona, smiling. "After that speech, most people admit they aren't qualified and then they can't get out of here fast enough. But you are willing to stay and try."

"Yes," said Betty.

"I need help," said Fiona, "I desperately need help, but I need people who can handle it. I don't have time to baby-sit you."

"I understand," replied Betty.

"And I don't have time to talk to you today," said Fiona, patting a thick stack of papers on her desk. "These are grant applications and I have one here that has to be post-marked today. We're losing our space. This building will be torn down soon, as soon as the landlord gets the permit from the city, and we need more money so we can rent somewhere else. Everywhere else costs more than this so we have to get another grant or we'll be forced to cut back the program."

"Can I help you with the application?"

"No, thank you. It's a skill to write these things, Betty. I just need to get back to it."

"Is there anything I can do? What do you need?"

"Joe," said Fiona, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index fingers.

"Joe who?" asked Betty.

"Coffee," said Fiona. "I haven't had a minute to get one."

"Go ahead and get it now, I don't mind waiting," said Betty.

"There's no coffee here," said Fiona. "I have to go to the corner to get it. It takes too long."

"Let me," said Betty, jumping up. "I'll go get it for you. Where do I get it? How do you take it?"

Fiona looked at Betty with surprise, "You don't think you're over qualified to fetch a coffee?"

"Not at all," said Betty, "I want to help you anyway I can."

"I like your attitude," said Fiona. "Maybe you _will_ be okay. Next, you have to get a criminal record check."

"I do?" said Betty, astounded. She couldn't believe Fiona would think there was something wrong with her. Then she blanched a shade, remembering the deli's smashed window. The officer had wanted to charge her with a break and enter and vandalism. And he would have if Gio had not intervened. Would that show up on a record check?

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" asked Fiona, her eyes fixed on Betty's face.

Almost sure that her face hadn't revealed her secret, Betty thought, _she's good, she's very, very good_.

"No," said Betty.

"I can't allow just anyone off the street around these kids, Betty," explained Fiona. "They are minors and vulnerable. Every volunteer has to have a clear record."

Fiona and Betty went to the window, overlooking the park, and Fiona pointed out the convenience store on the other side of the park next to the Regal Park subway stairs. Betty could see the whole park and all the people in it: boys and men in groups lounging against lampposts, children playing, Nick feeding squirrels.

"Do you want Flash to walk with you to the store?" asked Fiona.

"No, I'm fine," said Betty, a little surprised that Fiona thought she might want help.

"And you probably don't want to wear that expensive ring around here," said Fiona, indicating Betty's engagement ring.

"Oh," said Betty. Finally realizing just how bad a neighborhood Regal Park was, she slipped the ring off her finger. As she carefully tucked ring into her purse, she examined it and wondered for the first time how much it had cost and how Gio had managed to pay for such an extravagant gift on short notice.

When paying for the coffee Betty noticed the many security cameras and the balding cashier, dressed in a short sleeved white dress shirt, frayed and grey from many washings, constantly glancing around, keeping an eye on the other customers, cruising in the aisles, talking in slang she didn't understand and wearing ball caps and hooded sweatshirts. Outside she heard a car alarm blaring and saw a police cruiser parked a few stores down in front of a pawn shop, angled up onto the sidewalk, the officers frisking a few men. She was glad it was broad daylight as she turned to go into the park.

After delivering the coffee to Fiona, Betty went to apply for the criminal record check and then pack a bag to take to Sondra's apartment.

* * *

Betty stood at her closet wondering what to take. She had no idea how many days she'd be away and she didn't know what she'd want to wear when working with the kids. She pulled out a piece of luggage and several clothes from her closet and laid them on her bed. Then she pulled open a small drawer in her dresser and looked in at the items thoughtfully. These were the pieces of lingerie she'd bought in Rome with the help of Gio's married sister Maria. She wanted something special for tonight, something that would surprise and delight Gio.

"Hey," said Hilda coming up behind Betty suddenly, startling her.

Betty closed the drawer quickly, and turned around, "Hi!"

"What are you doing?" asked Hilda.

"Nothing," said Betty.

Hilda raised an eyebrow and waved her hand towards the bed.

"Oh yeah, I'm packing. I'm going to house-sit at Sondra's apartment because she had to go out of town suddenly."

"Oooh. Where does she live?" said Hilda, excitedly.

"Near work, in an upscale neighborhood," said Betty.

"Lucky you!" said Hilda, "Is there room for two?"

"What?" blushed Betty, thinking she was trying to find out if Gio would be staying with her.

"I want to go too!" replied Hilda, apparently unaware of Betty's discomfort. "How long are you staying there?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll let you and Papi know as soon as I find out."

"Okay, well, don't do anything I wouldn't do," smiled Hilda, as she walked to the doorway.

"Not likely," said Betty, pulling the drawer open again as soon as Hilda was out of the room.

* * *

Betty arranged for Gio to bring the ingredients for dinner with him at eight, since he wanted to cook, and went to the apartment to unpack and get it ready.

She arrived at the apartment hours before Gio was expected so she had plenty of time to play with the pets and set up everything the way she wanted. She set the dining table, a table so small it only had room for two place settings, with plates, wine glasses, candles and cutlery. It looked very elegant even before she folded the cloth napkins into little boats to sit on the plates. She hunted through the kitchen for matches for the candles but couldn't find any anywhere. She could have called Sondra to ask her but she didn't want to bother her about something so trivial. After searching the living room she decided that Gio might have matches, and left it for later.

She tidied up the kitchen and washed the dishes since Sondra's breakfast dishes were still in the sink. Then she made the bed, put her toiletries in the bathroom, found some romantic music and got it ready to play. When everything was perfect she still had lots of time to wait so she looked out the window, and spent time playing with the dogs. Banjo was very playful and fetched a ball over and over, never tiring of the game. Betty got out the package of dog biscuits and gave one to each dog but because Sondra limited them to a couple of biscuits a day, she didn't give them another one even though they begged and begged her with their sweetest, most darling, pleading, puppy-dog eyes. The dog-walker Sam had been in during the day and he had exercised and fed them so there was nothing else she needed to do.

As the daylight faded Betty took a shower to cool off. She'd been sweating all day and wanted to make sure she would smell of perfume. After the shower she pulled her wet hair into a ponytail and decided to dress in lingerie. She'd planned on saving the never-before-seen black satin negligee set for a surprise after dinner but then she thought it would be even more fun to surprise Gio by answering the door in the sexy, skimpy robe with matching barely decent camisole and panties … actually frankly indecent camisole and panties. The negligee set made her feel feminine and beautiful and she loved the luxurious feel of the cool satin next to her warm, scented skin.

Everything was ready. She checked and re-checked everything. The only thing missing was Gio. Eight o'clock came and went but still Gio had not arrived. Betty looked out the window at the cars on the streets. There was no parking available on the street that she could see. Not having a car or even being a driver she was ignorant of traffic and parking problems except that everyone constantly complained about them. Gio drove everywhere, picking up supplies and making deliveries, so he knew all the ins-and-outs of driving and parking in the city. Betty wondered if he was having trouble finding a spot he could park in overnight without being towed. She wondered if he was driving around looking for parking now, or walking from somewhere far away. She wanted to call him and ask, but she didn't like to call him when he was driving.

Finally, her cell phone rang.

"Hello? Where are you?" answered Betty, seeing from the call display it was Gio.

"I just parked around the corner from your building, about a block away, I'll be there in a minute," said Gio.

"What's for dinner?" asked Betty, suddenly realizing she was very hungry.

"I've got a tub of salad, already prepared, and two nice big t-bone steaks. They'll only take a few minutes to cook. I hope you like steak."

"Yes! Is there any food I don't like?" asked Betty.

Gio laughed, "I guess I'm going to have to try harder if I want to find that out."

"I'm game," giggled Betty.

"And I've got pain au chocolat for dessert."

"Yum, do I have to wait until after dinner for dessert? I'm starving," said Betty.

"Eat it while I'm cooking. I might skip dessert and save it for breakfast. And I have a bottle of Chianti Riserva, perfect with steak. This wine is so good you can't buy it here; my grandfather shipped us a crate."

"I have to warn you," said Betty, "you will _not_ have to get me drunk to have your way with me."

"That's a warning?" said Gio. "It sounds more like an invitation, and I'm on it, all over it, but the only problem is, I actually have to get some sleep tonight. I'm really tired and need to wake up early."

"No wine for you or you'll be falling asleep," said Betty. "I need you at peak performance, or whatever you can muster up, I'm easy."

"I love you when you're easy," said Gio.

"You love me _all_ the time, right?" giggled Betty.

"Yeah, you're right, but _especially_ when you're easy. Okay, I'm at the door, buzz me in."

"Twelfth floor, turn left, and it's on the right side," said Betty putting her cell phone down on the table near the door and pushing the buzzer so Gio could enter the building.

With all three pets following her, Betty padded around the apartment in bare feet, turned on the music she had selected, adjusted it low, so it wouldn't bother the neighbors, dimmed the lights, scooped up Mittens so she couldn't run into the hallway when she opened the door, picked up the bag of dog biscuits, in case Banjo got excited and needed to be distracted, and stood waiting with the big fluffy cat in her arms, anticipating Gio's knock. After waiting a minute she took off her glasses and the robe covering the camisole and panties so Gio would be even more surprised when he opened the door.

In preparation for the date Gio had showered, applied cologne, but not shaved since Betty liked his chin rough, and dressed in black jeans and a certain short sleeved white shirt that buttoned with black snaps because he thought Betty would find the popping sound the fasteners made when they were pulled apart amusing. When Gio reached the door he moved the bottle of wine and the bag of groceries to the same hand, and knocked with the other, a short characteristic knock so Betty would recognize it as his.

Betty swung the door open wide for Gio, who stood dumbstruck by the sight of her standing so close to him, holding a large white fluffy cat in her arms, smiling and almost naked.

Mittens took that exact moment as an opportunity to lunge for the door, but Betty held the cat firm, the ball of fur struggling, meowing loudly, and clawing vigorously.

The mortifying thought of running blindly down the hall chasing Mittens wearing the camisole and panties, with Gio, Banjo, and Pugsly noisily chasing behind her - breaking half a dozen coop rules right in front of Sondra's snooty neighbors - flashing through her mind, Betty fought hard to hold on and yelled, "_Get in!_"

But Gio didn't move, dazed, until Betty grabbed him by his arm, dragging him through the doorway and slamming the door. Just as it closed Mittens finally freed herself from Betty's grip but luckily didn't get out the door. Betty's arm had several scratches, tiny beads of blood dotting them.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" cried Betty, extending her arm to examine it.

"Sorry," said Gio, quickly setting the wine and grocery bag on the table by the door.

Recovered from the fright of Mittens' near escape and disregarding the blood, Betty threw her arms around Gio.

"Betty, B, Buttercup!" said Gio, hugging her tightly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Gio joyfully squeezed her to him, rubbing the thin satin fabric covering her back. "How do you like your steak? Please say really, _really_ rare."

"Medium," said Betty, smiling.

"Medium rare?" asked Gio.

"Medium," said Betty.

"You're killing me. How about we eat after?" coaxed Gio, stepping back from their embrace so he could admire her.

"No, I'm hungry!" exclaimed Betty, giggling.

Gio gazed at her, entreatingly.

"Doh!" said Betty, slapping her forehead. "I'm an idiot! I forgot to _eat_ before you brought me dinner."

Gio laughed and knelt in front of her, putting his arms around her waist, turning his head to put his ear on her stomach as though listening for rumbling. Betty rubbed her palms on his bristly head.

_My dear hungry friend_, Gio thought, addressing her ravenous stomach telepathically. The compassionate organ which had brought Betty to his deli time and time again during the dark months she was with Henry was at this moment the enemy of his immediate gratification. Alas, he owed his faithful ally its pleasure before his own. To serve it was an honor.

Holding Betty by the hips, Gio kissed her navel tenderly and stood up, "Of course, dinner first."

"Do you want me to put on the robe?"

"No, I do _not_," said Gio, holding her and kissing her gently, thoroughly, urgently, passionately.

Banjo growled at Gio, and Betty pushed Gio away to look down, seeing all three pets watching them. She picked up the bag of dog biscuits and handed them to Gio. "Quick, give a couple of these to Banjo. You have to make friends with him."

Gio squatted in front of Banjo and held out a biscuit. Banjo gobbled it down and growled again so Gio fed him a second and then third biscuit. Banjo kept growling after finishing each biscuit. He clearly did not want Gio in the apartment.

Betty leaned down to Banjo and said, "I bet it looks like he's attacking me but he isn't. Not really. Maybe a little, but it's consensual. That's significant."

With Banjo growling menacingly at him, Gio backed up until he reached the door.

"Keep giving him biscuits," ordered Betty. "You have to keep him quiet."

"Okay," said Gio, amused by the small dog's bravado.

"No, Gio, this is _really_ important! I better phone Sam."

Betty, standing up and putting on her glasses, picked up her cell phone and dialed Sam, holding it close to her ear since she could barely hear him over the growling.

"Hello Sam? I'm Betty Suarez and I'm house-sitting for Sondra Cartwright. I've got a problem with Banjo. He's growling and won't stop."

Gio stood up behind Betty and said, "I ran out of biscuits Betty, are there any more?"

"Is there someone else there?" asked Sam, hearing Gio's voice.

"Yes, my fiancé," said Betty.

Standing close behind Betty, Gio, thrilled to hear himself so described, put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, breathing in the intoxicating fragrance of her freshly-washed floral and coconut scented hair, nuzzling and kissing the back of her neck.

"Well, that's the problem. Banjo doesn't like strange men," explained Sam.

"What?" said Betty, trying to ignore Gio's caresses.

"Get him out of there, and then Banjo will be quiet," said Sam calmly. "Listen, I have to go. I don't do impromptu consults. You have to make an appointment."

"This is an emergency!" exclaimed Betty.

Betty twisted around to face Gio, trying to make him stop distracting her, but he still held her tightly. "There aren't any more biscuits," Betty whispered into Gio's ear.

"Is the dog's health in danger?" asked Sam.

"No," replied Betty.

"Gio!" she hissed quietly, slapping at the mischievous hand creeping up under her camisole.

"Well, then it isn't an emergency," said Sam. "I have a cancellation tomorrow. You want 1:30 pm? You're lucky because I'm normally booking two weeks ahead."

"I want you now!" shouted Betty, frantic because Banjo's growls were growing louder, swatting ineffectually at Gio's hands - he misunderstood her command - trying to stop him from fondling her and pulling down her panties.

"No can do, honey. Do you want tomorrow or not?" said Sam.

"Yes, yes, I want it," cried Betty in desperation, further misleading Gio.

"Good, call me tomorrow," said Sam, hanging up.

Betty dropped the phone, twisting, and turned her back to Gio to look at Banjo, who was continuously growling at them. Gio was pinned between her body and the door. His hands, only a moment before stroking her back, were now cupping her breasts, massaging them, arousing her, feeling everything through the thin layer of smooth satin. Betty cursed and moaned, arching her back, grinding her plump behind into Gio's groin.

Panties soon on the floor, Gio fumbled with his belt buckle.

"No," Betty moaned, hearing Banjo's short staccato barks. "You have to go."

Gio's brain, oxygen-deprived, its blood diverted to his nether regions, was incapable of thought and so at a loss for words. "Huh?"

"You can't stay," cried Betty, pushing his hands away, disentangling herself from him. Banjo's barking had become a continuous noise, and she could tell Pugsly was close to joining in.

Betty picked up Mittens in preparation for opening the door but Gio still didn't move, still didn't comprehend what she wanted him to do.

Then Pugsly joined Banjo in a spirited chorus of howling and barking.

"You have to go, it's the only way to get them to stop," said Betty, raising her voice above the cacophony of dog's barks. "You can't stay another minute!"

"What?" exclaimed Gio, astonished.

"_Get out!_" yelled Betty.

Gio's flushed face with its innocent, bewildered expression made Betty start to giggle. Overcome by the absurdity of his predicament, she fell into a fit of hysterical laughter, unfortunately feeling inconsiderate for laughing at Gio's dismay only intensifying it. Doubled-over, eyes tearing, struggling to stop laughing and clutching Mittens firmly, Betty managed to yank the door open and shove Gio out, slamming it shut behind him.

After a moment, Betty opened the door a crack, so no one in the hall could see her, almost naked and trying to catch her breath, and said to Gio, who was still standing there, stunned, "And no loitering, you have to get out of the building! Call me when you get outside."

Gio finally recovered enough to understand why he had to go and started walking towards the elevators, shaking his head in surprise at the abrupt turn of events.

After she shut the door, Betty sat with her back against it, legs outstretched, Mittens curled up on her lap. Soon the dogs were calm, wagging their tails happily, proud of themselves for successfully protecting Betty from Gio, licking her face and begging for biscuits.

Betty petted Mittens and ate the pastries, chuckling over Gio's confusion and the disastrous tryst, waiting patiently for Gio to call her.


	9. Some Kind of Family Dinner

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 9 Some Kind of Family Dinner

It was late afternoon when Daniel entered the lobby of the Meade building. He headed towards the elevators, and observing a cluster of employees leaving for the day having just disembarked from one, he stepped forward to catch it.

"Hold it, please," Daniel called out, managing to slip through the doors just as they were closing.

Wilhelmina, the only other person in the car, had her hand hovering near the door open and close buttons.

"Sorry, Daniel," said Wilhelmina, "I must have accidentally hit the close button instead of the open button."

Daniel, surprised to see Wilhelmina there, shrugged. She was either lying or needed to get her eyes checked, he thought, and probably the former. It was exactly what he would have done and said too.

"Forget it, Wilhelmina," said Daniel, "This is convenient. I was coming to see you."

"Oh," said Wilhelmina, making a dismissive wave of her hand and giving Daniel a bored look. "Trying to get out of accounting again?"

"No, that's not it," said Daniel, patting an envelope tucked under his arm. "This will only take a minute. I just need your John Hancock on this form about Renee."

Wilhelmina looked at Daniel; her interest piqued realizing she had something he needed.

"You need my signature … why?"

"To get her out, this is the last item to do and she's a free woman!" said Daniel, not even attempting to suppress his excitement at the prospect.

Wilhelmina studied Daniel's glowing face relishing her ability to deny him his desire simply by refusing to sign.

"I thought you were in charge of her release, what have I got to do with it?" asked Wilhelmina, wanting to understand the situation fully before deciding how she might most deliciously thwart him.

"Since Renee and I are not married, you're her next of kin," replied Daniel, scowling. "Not only that but _you_ were the one that committed her. You signature is required."

Wilhelmina raised her eyebrows, enjoying Daniel's discomfort, knowing he'd find asking her for anything distasteful. "Show me what you want me to sign."

Daniel slipped a paper out of the envelope, "Here, this is it. Only one little signature, that's all it takes."

Wilhelmina examined the paper. "It says here that I agree with all the terms of her release, the living situation she's going to, and the plan for her continuing recovery."

"Yes," said Daniel. "I've got it all figured out. She's going to live with me. I take full responsibility for her, there's nothing for you to worry about."

"Now, now, Daniel, we're talking about my dear sister, my little sister, my _only_ sister," said Wilhelmina, signaling to Daniel she wouldn't give in to his request easily. "She's a vulnerable person in a fragile state of mind and I have to consider this carefully. A premature release could set her back months and she might not _ever_ recover from a bad experience."

Wilhelmina was in fact unconcerned about her sister's welfare. She had been happy to commit her to the hospital because she wished Renee to stay out of her life, which she had disrupted many times. Daniel and Renee were bound to make each other's lives stormy, a thought that pleased her. But despite wanting to saddle Daniel with Renee, she wasn't going to give in without making him fight for it.

Daniel frowned; as usual it was going to be a battle with Wilhelmina. She could so easily get under his skin, he had to be careful. Unfortunately, he needed her cooperation so he couldn't afford to let her provoke him.

"What could possibly be your basis for refusing?" said Daniel, working hard to keep his tone light, his body relaxed, in spite of knowing from Renee, Wilhelmina was no one's friend.

"I have to consider to whom she's being released, you must know your reputation Daniel, a playboy, a _notorious_ philanderer. Can you even tell me how many girls you've gone through in the last five years?"

"That's over, all in the past." said Daniel firmly. "Look, I've brought her to work so you could see us together, and see for yourself how solid our relationship is."

"Oh, so that's what you were doing," said Wilhelmina, recalling Daniel parading Renee around the office hallways, irritating her.

"Wilhelmina, what kind of assurance can I give you? Tell me and I'll do it."

"How about marriage?" suggested Wilhelmina, cheerfully imagining Daniel suffering from an everlasting torment inflicted by her psycho sister. "Instead of making a commitment, you're going to _shack up_ with her?"

"Uh, well, marriage is a possibility, no, more than that, a distinct probability. We just thought we'd wait until she had a few months on the outside before moving in that direction. Renee fully understands and agrees to us 'shacking up' as you so crudely put it."

"And she'll be living with your boy, Daniel Jr.?"

"Yes, and with Claire eventually, as soon as we get an apartment with enough room for the four of us, in the meantime Claire will stay in her place."

"So, she'll be living with a teen boy, the bastard child you barely know. By god, he'll be putting you through hell soon. Don't I remember well Nico's teen years? Who could forget them?" Nico, Wilhelmina's daughter, living away at boarding school, was so exasperating she didn't even want to be a bridesmaid at Wilhelmina's disrupted wedding to Bradford Meade, Daniel's deceased father who had a heart attack at the altar. "Don't you think this could be a difficult situation for Renee to go into?"

"Now wait, you don't know him, he's as nice a boy as you'll ever meet," said Daniel, although aware he could be a handful. "The important point is that Danny and Renee get along well."

"Not only him, but your mother too!" exclaimed Wilhelmina, slapping the paper in her hand. She knew she'd sign it eventually, but she wanted to have a little fun with Daniel first, the kind of fun she enjoyed intensely and could never get enough of.

Wilhelmina, wishing to drive Daniel into an out-of-control fury, said "So, Claire - let me recap it for you - is a confessed killer, but not a convicted murderer only because her defense of temporary insanity was credible. _This_ is the family my sister will be joining?"

"Please don't speak of my mother like that," said Daniel, as calmly as he was able, seething, clenching the fist hidden in his pocket, allowing a set of keys to dig painfully into his palm.

"And then there's your brother turned sister, Alexis, who I'd say wraps up the nicest little family anyone could imagine. This isn't a 'Father Knows Best' family, this isn't a 'Brady Bunch' family, this is a family beyond preposterous. And _this_ will be the family she'll be sitting down to dinner with every night, _if_ I allow it."

"We're doing the best we can," said Daniel, amazing himself by keeping his composure. Daniel loved Renee profoundly and he was determined to suffer Wilhelmina's slings and arrows with grace. "Is there any way I can prove to you that Renee will be a cherished family member and sufficiently supported?"

Wilhelmina considered this for a minute, until she thought of a devilish idea, one that would discomfit the whole clan of them, "Bring Renee and your family to my place. Let me see you all together for a while and then I'll sign it."

"Thank you," Daniel agreed reluctantly, defeated, not wanting to part without a signature but realizing he had no other option. Although he suspected she had a secret, hellish motive for demanding the visit, he couldn't refuse it. "You pick a date and time and we'll be there in full force."

When the elevator arrived at Wilhelmina's floor Daniel made a show of gallantly holding the door open for her to exit.

* * *

Wilhelmina, Betty, Christina, Susie, Daniel and Marc were gathered around the table for an emergency meeting about the charity competition.

"Betty, please explain to everyone why we're here," said Wilhelmina.

"Sondra has gone back home," said Betty. "Her best friend is in the hospital, in a coma, and Sondra wants to be there when she wakes up." If she wakes up, thought Betty. "She doesn't know how long she'll be away."

"Now, we need to decide how we'll handle this disruption," said Wilhelmina. "We're able to suspend Sondra's operations work for a bit but the competition has to go ahead. Betty, what do you say?"

"I like working on it and I think I can handle it without Sondra. Please let me continue," said Betty. Both Sondra and Gio had encouraged Betty to pitch her own idea for the competition so gathering up all her courage, she said, "But I'd like to revise the plan." She patted the binders in front of her on the table, "I've studied the rules and I think I've got a better plan."

"I'm thankful you want to work on it Betty. There isn't anyone else available to take over on such short notice. But why revise the plan? Is that really necessary? Does anyone else have an opinion?" asked Wilhelmina, giving a steely-eyed glance to everyone.

"I'm happy to keep Betty on it," said Daniel. "She's perfectly capable. And I'd like to hear her plan."

"Okay," said Wilhelmina, annoyed. "I _suppose_ it doesn't hurt to discuss it. Betty?"

"I don't think teaching the teens to sew is good enough, I'd like to teach them different skills, such as English, and better address some of the other problems they have."

"If we don't follow our plan," countered Wilhelmina, "then Susie's wedding dresses will not get made in time, and that will put off the magazine's wedding issue. Is that what you want?"

Betty was sorry that her new plan would mean she wouldn't supervise the creation of the dresses. It hurt that she would not see them being made because she adored the gowns, but she felt that Wilhelmina's plan was too selfish, it benefited Mode too much and the teens not enough. Altruistic, Betty wanted to do her plan because it was better for the kids.

"And don't forget," said Wilhelmina, trying to bully Betty into dropping the idea, "your plan must help the teens and the charity but also win the competition, so the idea must be a clever one. Are you sure you want to suggest a new plan?"

"Yes," said Betty, not sure she did, but she was committed now. "I want to write and direct a play for the teens to act in. Our entry for the competition would be the performance."

"How does that help the kids?" asked Wilhelmina, attacking the idea. "Acting is not a marketable skill for them."

Expecting Wilhelmina's opposition, Betty had rehearsed her defense, "It's a way for them to learn English, have fun, work as a team, get motivated, and improve their self esteem. It's a kind of art therapy. We'd invite the local community and the fashion community to the performance and everyone would get to know the teens and the charity."

"All right, maybe it helps them, but how does it help us?" asked Wilhelmina.

"If the performance is good then we will win the competition," replied Betty. "Mode would be genuinely helping the teens and the charity, and that would make us look good."

Wilhelmina frowned, skeptical of Betty's competence to write and direct, reluctant to delay the wedding issue.

"I love it!" said Christina. "Betty, it sounds bloody brilliant!"

"It's going to be hard work to pull this off in the limited amount of time we have," warned Wilhelmina, still opposed, still expecting Betty to give up her idea. "Are you ready for that?"

"I promise to work as hard as I can," said Betty. "I'll devote all my time to it."

"And the play, you'll write it? Wouldn't it be better to use one that's already written?"

"The play will be about these teens' lives. They've lived through unique and terrible circumstances and the play will dramatize the issues they face, the struggles they're going through, and their potential. They become empowered from acting it out."

Christina, Susie, and Daniel were all nodding in agreement, showing they supported Betty's idea.

"Well, it looks like I'm out numbered," said Wilhelmina, relenting at last and seriously considering the idea. In the back of her mind she was cooking up a devilish scheme and if it worked the way she planned Betty's new idea would still fit in with all of her requirements.

"This will change a lot but we haven't actually started the other plan yet. We'll have to make the wedding dresses using conventional methods, delaying them, but we can adjust that schedule. Does anyone have a problem with Betty's plan?" Wilhelmina glanced at everyone, no one said anything.

"I guess that's a yes, Betty," said Wilhelmina. "No one is speaking against it. You'll need to meet with Daniel and work out a new budget."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much!" exclaimed Betty, smiling happily and packing up the binders, thrilled that she had won Wilhelmina over and that she would be the author of a play.


	10. Always Pack a Black and White Cookie

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 10 Always Pack a Black and White Cookie

Gio gulped down his seventh double espresso of the morning, desperately fighting a persistent fatigue from too many long workdays, and picked up a plate with each hand, a pair of breakfast wraps for the young couple at a table by the window. Hearing the door chime, he looked up and saw Betty coming into the deli. It was well before lunch time, earlier than normal for her to come in.

"There she is … the fiancé," sang Gio brightly.

Betty waved her hand to Gio, "I have something to tell you!"

She waved her left hand, a bare hand, a _naked_ finger! Gio gasped, startled. Was his exhausted brain playing tricks on him? No, the elegant gold and diamond ring, a custom made copy of his grandmother's ring, the one he'd given Betty at the romantic viewpoint overlooking the Tuscan valley, was not on her finger. But it was always there! Why wasn't it there? Was that what she was going to tell him? He felt a knife pierce his chest. He looked down and saw the plates he'd been holding falling to the floor, smashing into pieces, his ears ringing from the sound of rushing blood. How could his heart beat when cut in two?

Gio escaped to the back room, his world tilting, off balance, grabbing a broom for support. He forced himself to think rationally, considering the possibilities. Did she take off the ring to end the engagement? Betty leaves him! A woeful life, a future with no Betty, flashed through his mind. Did she lose the ring? Relief, joy, Betty loves him! The ring is lost, but no matter, it's replaceable.

Sweeping up the debris, Gio's thoughts swung back and forth between the alternatives - she leaves him, she loves him, she leaves him, she loves him - as though he was pulling petals off a daisy.

When done remaking the discarded wraps, he immediately went to Betty, who stood by the drink cooler.

Opening the cooler door and getting out a drink, Betty was acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Yet, when seeing Gio approach her, she held up her hands and said, "Don't kiss me!"

_She leaves me._ Stricken, Gio studied Betty's face intently, desperately wondering what had gone wrong.

"I've got a sore throat," explained Betty, noticing Gio's distress. "Don't kiss me or you'll get a cold."

"Oh," croaked Gio, still confused about the missing ring. He took her hand, holding it in his palm, stroking the ringless finger, on tenterhooks, "Why no ring?"

"I took it off," replied Betty. "I'm going to Regal Park and Fiona said I shouldn't wear it there so I put it in my purse where it's safe." Betty patted her purse reassuringly.

_She loves me. _Recovering his senses, Gio said, "I don't care about catching a cold, I want to kiss you."

"That's sweet, but be sensible, Gio!" said Betty, flattered, "You can't work in the deli or the hotel kitchen with a cold. Look, you have customers, take care of them, then I'll tell you my news."

Betty sat on a stool at the counter and drank the cold drink to sooth her rough throat and waited for Gio to finish serving sandwiches.

When done, Gio wiped the counter and came around it to sit beside Betty, putting his arm around her waist, relieved everything was fine between them.

"Let's get married," said Gio impulsively.

"Oh, I thought you'd _never_ ask!" Betty laughed, but a little puzzled, "Aren't we already getting married?"

"No, I mean right away, this weekend, no, not then, I'm busy, but as soon as we can arrange it."

"Relax, Gio, there's no rush," replied Betty, heeding Sondra's advice. "We're working on our careers and we have lots of reasons to wait." Before, it was always Betty who wanted to move the date sooner and Gio saying they should stick to the plan and wait.

"I suppose," said Gio reluctantly, putting on a brave face, realizing just how much his peace of mind was in jeopardy by waiting.

"Hey, guess what? I got permission to work on the charity _and_ to do the play!" said Betty, excitedly.

"Congratulations!" said Gio, proud for her. "I knew you could do it."

"Now I have to write the play," said Betty, "and I'm coming down with a cold, bad timing."

"I'll help anyway I can," offered Gio. "I'll bring you chicken soup. Do you think Banjo will let me in the apartment?"

"That reminds me … Sam gave me this for you."

Betty reached into her purse and brought out a thick pamphlet and handed it to Gio. The pamphlet was called "How to make friends with a dog" and the instructions went over several pages. Gio read the first section of the first page.

"Have you read this?" asked Gio. "It's going to take hours to work through this. I don't have time!"

"I know," said Betty. "And, it all has to be done on neutral territory. We can't do this at the apartment because that's Banjo's territory. And we can't do it at a park because Banjo would be distracted."

"We can't do it here because animals aren't allowed in the deli," said Gio, stroking Betty's back, feeling her soft hair, silky and fragrant, "… government regulations and all …" His voice trailed off as he wondered how he could keep from kissing her.

"And you can't be distracted either," giggled Betty, noticing Gio's longing look.

"With you around," Gio smiled, "how's that even possible?"

"If we can't fix it by ourselves," said Betty, "Sam will give us an appointment, but he doesn't have an opening for two weeks."

"That's a long way off," said Gio, sighing. "Sondra will probably be back before then."

"Yeah, I know, but he said he'd call if there's a cancellation. Say, do you know who Carlos Delgado is?" asked Betty.

"Sure, Mets first baseman! I'm a big fan! Who doesn't know him?" replied Gio.

"Me," said Betty, rolling her eyes. "I found out he's Sondra's friend, he was in her class at school!"

"Wow, lucky her! She grew up in Puerto Rico? I suppose that means Sondra is thirty-six," said Gio, "or maybe thirty-seven."

"No way!" exclaimed Betty. "You know that? Do you know all the players' ages?"

"I know everything about them," said Gio proudly, adding eagerly, "Go ahead, ask me anything, test me!"

"How can I test you, Gio?" said Betty. "You could say anything since I don't know the answers."

"But I'd still be right," said Gio, enthusiastically. Then, knowing that Betty didn't share his enthusiasm, he added, "Maybe another time."

More customers were entering the deli so Gio got up and went back behind the counter to make sandwiches. When they had gone Betty got up to go too.

"I'll be working at the charity in Regal Park for the next few weeks so I won't be able to come here for lunch."

"If you come by in the morning I'll pack you a sandwich. I'll make you one for today, what do you want?"

"Today my favorite is smoked turkey on baguette!" said Betty gaily.

"Custom made to your specifications, coming right up!" replied Gio, his eyes twinkling as he snuck a black and white cookie into the bag.

* * *

On Saturday morning Betty put the library book explaining art therapy and her laptop computer on a table beside Hilda's salon chair. Hilda had a full day booked and couldn't take time separately to help Betty work on her play for the charity competition.

Hilda was washing a client's hair in the sink that Gio had hooked up. The sink he installed after Henry's attempt ended with water all over everything.

Turning pages in the book, Betty coughed and got out a cough drop, sucking on it. She had a box of tissues close at hand.

"You should be taking time off with that cold," said Hilda. "How are you going to get better?"

"I can't take time off," replied Betty. "There isn't enough time in the schedule. I promised to work as hard as I can. Anyway, I'm not very sick, just a tickle in my throat and a stuffy nose."

"Make sure to take some honey and lemon for it," said Hilda. "And don't let Papi know."

"Sure," said Betty.

"How's Sondra's friend?" asked Hilda, pouring shampoo onto her client's wet hair.

"Oh, well, there's good news and bad news," said Betty. "Carmen woke up, she's not in danger anymore, but there's some brain damage. She's going to need therapy for months, and she may never recover completely."

Hilda shook her head sadly, lathering the soap into foam.

"Sondra is scheduling all their friends to look after her kids and make meals so her husband can be with her in the hospital."

"She's a good friend," murmured Hilda, spraying water to rinse the shampoo out.

"She said Bungee saved Carmen. He's helping too."

"It's good he's there for her. Now, let's talk about the charity competition."

Because of her bad experience in multicultural club when she was in junior high, Betty had learned from Hilda, a talented listener from years of doing 'hair salon talk therapy', how to interview the kids so she could hear their stories without upsetting them too much, which was inevitable as they related their disturbing memories.

"It's been an interesting week," said Betty. "When I told them that my parents escaped from a terrible situation in Mexico and snuck into America illegally, hoping for a better life for you and me, the kids became more willing to open up. Now they all want to meet Papi. These kids have fascinating and terrible histories."

Wrapping a towel around her client's wet hair and squeezing the water out, Hilda said, "Tell me about them."

"Flash and Bling are two boys about fourteen from the same country and speak the same language. They made up their names to be cool and American; they don't like their real names anymore. Flash has been hear longer and knows some English but Bling knows very little and they always hang around together. Bling's mother and step-father were from different ethnic groups, currently warring ones, so his mother's family killed her husband. Bling and his mother, Joy, escaped before her family killed her too. They lived in a refugee camp for over a year and only just arrived in New York a few weeks ago."

"It's hard to believe stuff like that happens," said Hilda, pausing to look at Betty. "Why would her family want to kill _her_?"

"Joy was pregnant with Bling's little sister Patty so she brought dishonor on the family," said Betty.

"What a shocking story," said Hilda.

"Joy's not quite thirty and already widowed twice, and a refugee camp is the only home Patty has ever known."

"Makes you count your blessings, I've only lost one man and never my home."

"Now she's a single parent with no English struggling very hard to keep what's left of her family together."

"Mmm," murmured Hilda, shaking her head sympathetically.

"And there's a girl, Pauline, who was sad and crying and I hugged her. Fiona came in and told me to stop because there's a no touching policy! I'm not allowed to touch the kids!"

"Oh, I know," said Hilda. "I think that's in all the schools now."

"I don't understand it," said Betty.

"They can't allow touching or they'd be liable to lawsuits," said Hilda, carefully tucking an apron around her client's neck. "Suppose it was a man hugging Pauline, it'd be inappropriate, right? Same if a woman was hugging a boy that age. It's just easier to disallow it completely."

"Well, its crazy," complained Betty. "She _needed_ to be comforted. How can you comfort someone without touching them?"

"I don't know," agreed Hilda, sympathetically. "It's just the way it is; you have to obey the rules."

"And I've met a lot of people there, besides the kids. Every one has their own story."

"Uh huh," said Hilda, concentrating on combing her client's hair, "go on."

"Well, there's Fiona. She's the organizer but is so tied up with grant applications right now she scarcely has time to work with the kids, the work she really loves. She's trying extremely hard to save the program from cutbacks, trying to find another space."

"No doubt a thankless task, poor thing. Who else?" asked Hilda.

"There's Nick, the squirrel feeder. Every time I go through the park, he is sitting on the same bench under the oak tree feeding nuts and seeds to squirrels and birds. I can see him from the windows, sitting there all day long, every day. I give him money for squirrel food every morning."

"Squirrel food?" exclaimed Hilda, selecting a pair of scissors, "So you think he spends the money on squirrel food?"

"That's what he says," replied Betty, shrugging. "He always has food there." 

"Betty, you know the man sits in that park all the time. Think about it, he's probably buying drugs or booze. I'm just saying."

"Oh," said Betty. "But he seems nice."

"He probably _is_ nice, that's different."

"One day, when Flash and Bling were walking beside me, Nick said to a squirrel 'You're an artist' but I knew he was talking to me so I said 'You think I'm an artist?' and he said 'No, not you, him' and he pointed at Flash."

"And …?" said Hilda, adeptly cutting hair while listening intently to Betty.

"I asked Flash and he said he didn't know, so later when I was alone I asked Nick what he meant and he said 'Go look at the side of that building there' and pointed to one of the brick buildings beside the park."

"Did you go see?" asked Hilda.

"Yes, I walked around to the other side and saw this amazing mural - beautifully painted - showing a prairie landscape with grasslands and strange, exotic trees. There were dried out crops, parched fields, and wisps of clouds in the sky. I guess Nick knew he had painted it, but it was graffiti and that was why Flash wouldn't admit it."

"Why don't you ask Flash if it's a real place or not," suggested Hilda, sweeping up the hair from around her feet.

"Good idea," said Betty, typing a note about it on her laptop. "Then there is Harold, the guy who runs the store. I'd been buying cough drops from him for a few days in a row and he'd been real nice and then I went in with Flash and Bling to buy them gum and he was totally different."

"Different how?" asked Hilda.

"First chance he got, he whispered to me, 'Why are you with _them_?' as if they were bad kids and I said I was volunteering at the charity they were at, and guess what he said then?"

"What?"

"He said 'Why would a nice person like you want to help _that_ charity?' like it was disgusting. So I explained to him how the charity was good for the community but he wasn't convinced. He said he was hoping the building will be torn down soon, since it brought bad people into the neighborhood, and that the kids were stealing from him whenever his back was turned. Can you believe it?"

"Yes, I can," said Hilda. "They might be."

"What?" exclaimed Betty. "Not you, too! Why do you say that?"

"Do the kids have any money?" asked Hilda.

"No, probably not," said Betty.

"And all the stuff at the store is going to look pretty good if you've just moved here from an impoverished country, right?"

"I suppose," said Betty.

"It's got to be very tempting. A lot of people might give in, even you, given the same circumstances."

"Oh," said Betty. "So you think Harold had good reasons to suspect them?"

"Yes, I do. Sorry Betty, but I'm going to side with the small business owner on this one," said Hilda. "Well-meaning charities and government policies can hurt nearby businesses and no one compensates them. They just get the fallout, nothing good, from having those facilities in their neighborhoods."

"Oh, I didn't think of that. Well, anyway, so I say to Harold that I'll pay him back for what they stole and I pull out my bank card, and he points to a sign on the counter that says 'Cash Only' and I swear to him that I never saw the sign before - although it _is_ right beside the cough drops - and I say 'what kind of business doesn't take plastic anymore', and he's looking at me like I'm from outer space or something. I gave him my business card and said I'd pay him later and he just stared at me with that look, the 'I'll believe it when I see it' look, you know that look?"

"Not only do I know that look," said Hilda, turning on the hair dryer in her hand. "But I'd be wearing it too, if someone walked in here and said they'd give me money for nothing."

"Oh," said Betty. "But I _will_ give him money, next time I go there."

"Yeah, Betty, I know you will," said Hilda, a brush in one hand and the hair dryer in the other. "That's one of the ways we can tell you're different from a regular person."

Betty shook her head at that, and continued reading the book in front of her.

"What we have to come up with is something that helps the kids understand and think positively about the changes in their lives," said Betty.

"Don't worry about it, Betty," said Hilda. "I'm working on it. Just give me a little time to let the ideas gel."

"You have to hurry, the deadline is coming up and there's so much to do. It's really important. Susie will be coming in on Wednesday to work on costumes!"

"You keep teaching them English and I'll work as quickly as I can," said Hilda. "Now, tell me more about the kids."

Later, when Betty was packing up to go back to Sondra's apartment, Hilda asked, "Gio is good with kids, is he helping you with them?"

"No," said Betty, looking down as she shoved books into her bag. "I hardly ever see him."

"Oh?" said Hilda. "Why not?"

"You know he's got that other job," said Betty. "He's working all the time, every day."

"Yeah, but he still has to sleep and you've got your own place now …?" said Hilda, expectantly.

"He never comes to Sondra's apartment," said Betty, blushing as she recalled the incident with Banjo. She didn't want to tell Hilda _that_ embarrassing story, "I told you already, I don't want to talk about Gio!"

Recently, when Betty found her mind wandering at work, she didn't think of kittens and ducklings like she used to, now her thoughts were dominated by Gio, and not just any Gio, a sexy naked Gio. Distracting and inappropriate, she was shocked by the daydreams, which were becoming increasingly frequent and explicit. Never before plagued by raunchy fantasies she didn't understand what was wrong with her.

Examining Betty's puzzling expression, Hilda wondered about Betty's missing engagement ring, hoping there wasn't another reason besides working in Regal Park that made her take it off. She decided to ask Daniel about it the next time he called her for advice about Renee. Daniel was good friends with Gio and he'd be able to tell her what was going on, or _not_ going on, between the pair.

Ignacio came into Hilda's salon from the adjoining kitchen, "Before you go, Betty, I have some food for you to take."

"Yay!" said Betty. "Thank you, Papi!"

Ignacio cupped Betty's face in both hands, looking at her intently, "Hey, do I smell cough medicine? Are you sick? You better come back home so I can look after you."

"No, Papi," said Betty. "I'm fine. I have to stay at Sondra's and look after her pets. But there is one thing you can help me with," said Betty, pointing to her laptop screen, "the program icon disappeared from the desktop and it's a nuisance finding it in the start menu. Can you fix that?"

"Sure, go get the food from the refrigerator and I'll take care of it," said Ignacio, proud of being the top student, recently graduated from his senior center's computer class. "Do you want me to add it to the quick start bar too?"

"Yes, please!" yelled Betty from the kitchen.

Betty packed up everything and headed out the door, "Thank you for all your help. Talk to you both soon, bye!"


	11. Frigid Tea and Sour Lemon

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 11 Frigid Tea and Sour Lemon

Just after three on Saturday afternoon, after buzzing the Meade family into the building, Marc and Wilhelmina finished preparing refreshments in her sleek, modern apartment kitchen waiting to hear them knock at the door.

Wilhelmina, handing a platter of assorted cheeses and crackers to Marc, said, "Put these out and I want you to be ready to light the candles just before I open the door."

The dining room table, visible from the apartment door, was elaborately decorated with a lace table cloth, elegant napkins, assorted glasses and stemware, tall candlesticks, and a feast of refreshments.

The oven timer chimed and Wilhelmina pulled out a tray of freshly toasted baguette slices, picked up a jar of caviar and followed Marc to the dining table, setting them out.

"It looks fabulous, Marc," praised Wilhelmina. "You've done a great job here."

"Thanks," said Marc suspiciously. He was always on guard when Wilhelmina was nice to him.

"Marc," said Wilhelmina, "I've been thinking about the nanny situation."

"Yes?" replied Marc apprehensively. This was a topic that he didn't want to talk about, having still failed to find one.

"If you haven't found one by the time the baby is born, I was thinking that _you_ could care for it, until you do find one. We can move the nursery into work."

"Ah," said Marc, not sure how to respond. This was what he feared hearing. "I _suppose_ I could."

"Then, you'll have even _more_ incentive to work hard and find one," said Wilhelmina, brightly. "So, what do you think?"

"I haven't given up," said Marc. "And the baby isn't here yet. Hopefully, it'll be moot." He figured there was no point in resisting while it was still a hypothetical situation.

They heard a knock on the door and Wilhelmina went to answer it while Marc stood at the table and got out some matches.

Wilhelmina turned to watch Marc and once he had lit the candles she threw the door open wide.

"Daniel, Renee, Claire, Daniel Jr., how nice to see you all!" said Wilhelmina gaily. "Oh, and Alexis too … how _lovely_ you could all make it."

Wilhelmina air kissed her sister Renee on both cheeks, and shook hands with everyone else, welcoming them into her home.

Renee's eyes soon fixated on the burning candles on the dining table, pointing at them and exclaiming fearfully, "_Daniel!_" Helplessly mesmerized by the flickering flames, she put her hands in front of her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry Renee, I can't believe I forgot about your aversion to fire," said Wilhelmina contritely. "How could I forget? Marc, please extinguish the candles at once!"

"Thank you," said Daniel to Wilhelmina, putting his arm around Renee's shoulders and comforting her.

"Let me offer you something to drink Claire, would you like a martini?" asked Wilhelmina.

"No," said Claire coldly. As a recovering alcoholic, Claire never drank anymore. She loved martinis but relied on sheer willpower to refrain. Her bitterest rival was torturing her and she was doing it right out in the open.

"No? Maybe you'd like something stiffer?" suggested Wilhelmina, arching an eyebrow.

Claire, tense and angry, was too upset to answer. Everyone stared at Wilhelmina.

"Oh, I remember, silly me!" said Wilhelmina, satisfied that she had made it clear to everyone she knew Claire's weakness. She said in an overly sweet tone, "Would you like lemon iced tea?"

Daniel hurried to Claire's side and patted her arm to calm her.

"Yes, she would like iced tea," answered Daniel for her.

"Marc!" called Wilhelmina, "one iced tea for Claire!"

Wilhelmina looked at Danny, and said "Avez-vous faim? Voici les fromages à manger." She pointed to the plate of assorted cheeses.

"Oui, merci," said Danny, picking up a plate and taking several pieces of cheese and a pile of crackers.

"Hungry, just like the _first_ time I met him," said Wilhelmina, smiling slyly at Daniel. That was the day Daniel had rejected the boy giving Wilhelmina a chance to befriend him, making Daniel look like a total fool. "Don't you ever feed him?"

"Boys his age are never full," said Daniel, gritting his teeth and remaining calm, refusing to be baited by her, willingly 'turning the other cheek' because he loved Renee.

"I underestimate you _again_, Daniel," said Wilhelmina, pursing her lips and looking him up and down - a reference to the time he'd been at her apartment with Renee and Wilhelmina had accidentally seen him naked - but this time she was saying it to acknowledge his forbearance, "perhaps you have matured."

"Now you've had your little fun, let's get down to business," said Daniel. "I have the form with me. If it is signed and faxed in before five, when the office closes, Renee will not have to go back, _ever_. Otherwise her day pass expires at eight. And we can't do anything about it tomorrow because it is Sunday. I expect we will be able to answer all your questions in two hours, don't you?"

"I guess, it's possible," replied Wilhelmina, strolling towards the table haughtily. "But it behooves me to be as thorough as I can since Renee's future may depend on it."

It had been far too long since she'd wielded this much power over the Meade family's happiness. This was even better than kicking Daniel out of his job and taking it over, locking him in the dungeon of accounting, and throwing away the key. And the chances were good that she'd rile them all into a brawl before five, throw them out, and be able to do it all over again on another day. "Please, everyone, help yourselves to anything you like and we'll take this to the living room."

As Daniel ushered the rest of his family into the living room, Wilhelmina walked to the dining room windows where Alexis was admiring the view.

"Nice shoes," said Wilhelmina, glancing down at Alexis' cherry red spike heels.

"Manolo Blanhik," replied Alexis, proud to be wearing the outrageously expensive brand. "I suggest that we check out their adorable bridal shoes for the wedding issue."

"I feel for your poor feet," said Wilhelmina, clucking her tongue sympathetically. "They're used to wearing roomier _men's_ footwear."

"Excuse _me_," exclaimed Alexis, stung by the thinly veiled jab her foot size, large for a man and very large for a woman, and unfortunately not something a plastic surgeon could do anything about. Turning to go to the living room, she added icily, "Do _not_ forget I'm your boss, Wilhelmina!"

The Meade family sat in Wilhelmina's luxurious but cold and sparsely decorated living room waiting for the next round. They would not have been more ill at ease if they'd been facing a firing squad. Wilhelmina had leave to ask them whatever she wanted to know, no matter how private or personal. The field was wide open, everything fair game, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.

Wilhelmina, arms folded, stood and surveyed each of them with contempt. Unencumbered by sisterly affection as she was, this was the opportunity of a lifetime! How worthless they all were, the bane of her ambitions, squirming before her, ready and waiting to be skewered. Wilhelmina pursed her lips, taking her time considering the next card to play.

"Can I have a look at the baby's room?" asked Renee cheerily, breaking the awkward silence.

Marc, delighted to get out of the room, jumped to his feet to show Renee the way. Soon everyone, grabbing the opportunity to delay the inquisition, stood up and followed the pair down the hallway.

The bright nursery's walls were decorated in warm and colorful tones and the windows were covered by frilly curtains with a pretty pattern of rainbows and clouds. The tasteful crib, basinet, change table, and comfortable rocking chair were loaded down with piles of brightly colored fluffy blankets, tiny t-shirts, diapers, and miniature socks.

"Wow!" said Renee. "I'd never have guessed you'd have bought such beautiful baby things!"

"I didn't," said Wilhelmina flatly, unimpressed by the charming room. "I hired a consultant, of course. See what you get when you don't supervise every detail?"

Renee picked up a pair of the baby's socks, holding them up close and examining the tiny pattern embroidered on them. "Daniel, look at them, they're so precious!"

Daniel took a sock from Renee and they huddled over the pile of tiny clothes. Renee started to cry and Daniel put his arm around her, pulling out a handkerchief and giving it to her.

"What's wrong with her?" said Wilhelmina to Alexis, wondering whether Renee's mind actually was as unhinged as Wilhelmina had been pretending it was.

"Renee wants to have a baby but she can't because of the medication she's taking," answered Alexis.

Wilhelmina saw Marc motioning to her, holding his arms like he was cradling a baby and pointing at Renee. When Marc looked like he was about to burst, possibly exposing her nanny crisis, Wilhelmina put a finger to her lips indicating that he should keep his mouth shut.

Seeing Claire notice the interaction between herself and Marc, and desperately trying to make Marc stop his pantomime while the wheels of thought slowly revolved in her head, Wilhelmina said curtly, "Marc, what's wrong with you?" Marc obediently dropped his arms and turned his back to everyone, picking up a couple of pillows from the crib.

Quickly, Wilhelmina plotted a new plan, something that could take care of her nanny dilemma and be sure to aggravate Daniel, something pure evil. She wanted to cackle but suppressed it.

"I could cancel my nanny," offered Wilhelmina to Renee, "a little sacrifice but I'd willingly do it for your benefit, my _dear_ sister, if you want to look after the baby. You could live in Nico's old room and I'll look after you. I'll sign the form this minute if you want to do it."

"No," said Daniel to Wilhelmina, distressed. "Renee is coming to live with me!" Then he took Renee's hands and said softly, "Unless you want to, of course, it's up to you, darling."

Astonished by Wilhelmina's gambit, Marc clenched the pillows in his hands, holding his breath, desperately hoping Renee would decide to live with Wilhelmina and take care of the baby.

Wilhelmina gloated as Daniel stood by nervously, while Renee deliberated over her choices, torn between wanting to care for the baby and to live with Daniel.

Claire tapped her chin thoughtfully and said slowly, "Wait a minute, perhaps there's another option."

After a long discussion with Betty about a month ago, Claire had surprised everyone by announcing she loved and welcomed the baby, her late husband Bradford's unexpected third child, conceived after his death, despite the fact half of its genes came from Wilhelmina and entitled her to one third of the company.

Everyone turned to look at Claire.

"The baby could live with Renee and Daniel," said Claire. "And Wilhelmina would still keep her third of Meade."

Wilhelmina considered the concept - technically she'd still be the baby's guardian, retaining those privileges no matter where it lived. And it was true that the only reason she wanted the baby was to get a piece of the company, it was her 'plan B' when her marriage to Bradford was derailed, she didn't actually _want_ the baby. The idea of sending the mewling, puking creature to live with Daniel and Renee was appealing, in fact it was very appealing, burdening Daniel with not only Renee but the infant as well, was an even more nefarious plan than the one she'd thought of!

"I'm fine with the arrangement," said Wilhelmina as coolly as if she was negotiating a business transaction. "Does Daniel agree?"

Daniel looked at Renee and said, "Whatever you decide, darling, I'll support you a hundred percent."

Renee's eyes sparkled with excitement and she said happily to Daniel, "I want the baby! I want the baby to live with us!"

Daniel turned to Wilhelmina and said gravely, "I'd be honored to give my father's child a home." Then he looked at Renee, and said tenderly, "I'd love to raise the baby with you."

Wilhelmina signed the form immediately and gave it to Daniel, overjoyed she'd soon see the last of the frilly curtains with rainbows and clouds, "I'll send the baby's things over to your apartment as soon as I possibly can."

Marc tucked the pillows he'd been holding back into the crib, ecstatic to have to nanny problem solved.

Wilhelmina kissed Renee, and said "Congratulations! You're out of rehab!"

Turning to Daniel, Wilhelmina said, "Congratulations! You're going to be a father!" then looking at Danny, added, "again."

Marc's cell phone rang and he answered and talked for a few seconds, turning to Wilhelmina. "Christina's in the hospital, in labor, we need to go!"

Everyone immediately rushed out of Wilhelmina's apartment to go to the hospital, Daniel stopping to fax Renee's form on the way.

Exactly thirty one and a quarter sleepless, nerve wracking, anxious, and tiring hours later, Claire took a picture of five-minute-old Marina, still wet and sticky from birth, sleeping peacefully, cradled in the arms of Renee and Daniel, their faces suffused with joy.


	12. Tuscan Dinosaurs ate Sage and Honey

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 12 Tuscan Dinosaurs ate Sage and Honey

On Monday morning Betty met Marc at the Regal Park subway station and they walked together through the park. Marc was grateful to be finished with the nanny problem and away from Wilhelmina's constant control. Working on Betty's theatrical production, something he was good at and enjoyed doing, was a great pleasure.

Marc was describing to Betty, who couldn't visit the hospital because of her cold, the events of the weekend. She pestered Marc for every detail about Christina's health, and why the baby was going to live with Daniel and Renee, and especially wanting to know anything he could say about the adorable, pretty, cute, and unbelievably sweet-natured baby, Marina.

As they were walking past Nick's bench, Marc said, "You know, it's so _ironic_ that Renee is helping Wilhelmina with the baby."

"Why do you say that?" asked Betty.

"Oh," said Marc, realizing he had revealed something he shouldn't have. "Oh, no reason." He asked Betty, "How was your weekend?" in an impulsive, but weak, attempt to change the topic.

Betty studied Marc's demeanor, knowing he was hiding something. "It's not going to work, Marc. Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing!" said Marc. "At least, nothing I can tell you."

Betty thought it over for a moment, undeterred. Curious to know what Marc was hiding, she made an uncharacteristic ploy to get him to talk, "Marc, I can get you kicked off this charity project if I want. Tell me!"

"Oh, I'm going to be sorry," said Marc, resigned, tired of hiding this particular secret because it was so dastardly. He had refused to commit a crime for Amanda, when she wanted him to destroy Fey's diary pages that eventually exonerated Claire, and this despicable deed seemed as bad or worse. That he had participated in the scheme, and knowing now what could have happened because of it, haunted him.

"You can't tell anyone about this," said Marc, whispering to Betty, "because I'm the only one who knows."

"Sure," replied Betty. "Go ahead."

"No, I mean _seriously_," said Marc.

"Yes, I promise."

"Wilhelmina swapped Renee's pills and that's why she went crazy and set Daniel's apartment on fire. Wilhelmina deliberately caused Renee's breakdown which almost killed you both. Even Daniel could have been killed."

"What?" exclaimed Betty. "Unbelievable!"

"I know."

"I _can't_ believe it," said Betty angrily, "and yet, I can. Wilhelmina's truly a witch, and that's being kind. Renee has enough problems without her_ own sister _sabotaging her mental health!"

Betty walked along silently, reflecting on Marc's disclosure, reeling from the extent of Wilhelmina's wickedness. What could have been her motive? Did she hate her sister? Did she want her dead? Or was she using Renee as a weapon to hurt Daniel, or worse, kill him?

"No, it can't be true," concluded Betty. "You must be mistaken. Not even Wilhelmina is capable of doing that."

"I'm not mistaken," said Marc, agitated, distressed from exposing himself to danger by revealing the fiendish act and yet relieved by unburdening himself to Betty, whom he trusted.

"Not only is it true," said Marc, sickened from shame and guilt, "_I_ was the one who swapped her pills, I swapped them with diet pills!"

"There are _diet_ pills!" said Betty, surprised. "Why diet pills?"

"They were the only ones Wilhelmina had that matched."

"Oh," said Betty. "Well that explains a lot, now we know Renee went crazy because she wasn't taking her meds."

"No," said Marc, "it's worse than that."

"Worse why?" asked Betty.

"Betty, don't you _know_ what's in diet pills?" asked Marc.

"No," said Betty. For someone of her girth working in the fashion business, Betty was amazingly uninformed about diet pills.

"Diet pills contain _exactly_ the kind of chemicals Renee shouldn't be taking." 

"Oh!" said Betty. "Now I think I see what you're saying."

"Yes. I _knowingly_ harmed her. I'll never forgive myself," said Marc. Ever since he did it, Marc believed himself a contemptible coward for following Wilhelmina's shameful orders without question.

"But nobody could know," said Betty, "what was going to happen."

"That's just it! It happened before," said Marc. "Wilhelmina knew exactly what she was doing."

"Well, she made you do it," said Betty, sympathetically. "It wasn't _your_ fault."

Marc, remorseful, shook his head. "No, don't say that. You could've been killed, you should despise me. I'm so sorry."

"I don't hate you, I forgive you," said Betty, patting his arm. "Thank you for telling me. Now it's over and Renee is going to be alright. Daniel will take care of her."

Marc frowned, much less confident of Daniel's care-giving abilities than Betty.

"You should tell Daniel," said Betty. "He should know."

"I can't," said Marc, distressed and tearful. "She'll know it was me who told him."

"Then put it out of your mind and let's go help these kids," said Betty.

Betty supposed that if Wilhelmina could do something like that to her own flesh and blood, then everyone around her was in grave peril. And someone foolhardy enough to put himself in her path could be in mortal danger. Someone like Daniel.

* * *

Later that morning, Betty was in the hot, dusty, sparsely furnished third floor classroom used for the Refugee teens at risk program introducing Marc to the students.

"Marc, I'd like you to meet Flash. He's such a good artist!" said Betty, smiling at Flash.

Flash was surprised and pleased by Betty's praise and he smiled shyly back at her, wondering how she knew about his passion for art.

"Flash, my goal is to get you enrolled in art classes. I think you're going to be a great painter some day. I'll buy a painting from you in advance, so you can afford them. Do you want to take lessons?"

Amazed by her generosity, Flash nodded his approval. He had fantasized about being a painter for a long time, but no one before Betty had encouraged him to pursue it.

Fiona interrupted their discussion by entering the classroom with a police officer.

"Betty," said Fiona, "sorry to bother you, but Constable Parker would like to speak with Flash."

"Yes, sure," said Betty. "No problem."

Betty and Flash stood up and walked to the doorway to meet Fiona and Constable Parker while the rest of the students and Marc looked on.

"I'm here about a complaint," said Constable Parker, looking bored, reading from his clipboard. "Flash, did you paint graffiti on a building beside the park yesterday? Someone says they saw you in the lane carrying paints about six."

Flash, looking scared, shrugged and said, "I don't know." He looked at Betty, pleading for help.

Constable Parker jiggled the pair of handcuffs attached to his belt. "Think carefully because I'm going to have to take you in for questioning."

"Flash, if this is true you'll be kicked out of the program," said Fiona. "I'm sorry, but there are consequences."

Betty was alarmed about what would happen to Flash if he was taken out of the program by Constable Parker. Her own brush with the law, when she'd been handcuffed in Gio's deli, still frightened her and she was afraid to interfere, but she was angry that these teens, who in her experience were nice kids considering everything, were always getting more flak for the petty crimes they did than help for the dire problems they had. She wondered who accused Flash. Was it Nick … or Harold? She realized it could have been anybody.

Betty watched Flash, slouching, silent and sullen, and then he glanced at her, imploring her for help, his face expressing such despair it prompted her to speak.

"No! Flash couldn't have done it," lied Betty, quaking in fear. "I was with him around then and we were no where near here." Betty closed her eyes briefly, wondering how she could possibly pull this off. She had no idea where she would say they were, and Flash wouldn't be able to corroborate it anyway. She didn't even know if he meant six in the morning or at night.

"Oh?" said Constable Parker, holding his bulky six foot frame erect and looking down sternly at Betty, an unconvincing liar, his interest roused by the transparent deception. "Is that so?"

Marc, Fiona, Constable Parker, and all the kids stared at Betty in disbelief. Everyone thought she was lying except for Flash, who knew she was.

Betty, swallowing hard and facing Constable Parker as confidently as she could, said firmly, "He couldn't have been there because he was with me."

"Well, now," said Constable Parker, flipping over the papers on his clipboard. "Would you be willing to sign a statement to that effect?"

Betty, trembling, near fainting, reconsidered.

What was she doing? If she was found out, which would not be difficult, it might discredit Mode's involvement in the charity and certainly bring shame upon herself. Everything she was doing here was at stake. Did she want to risk it all to stop them from taking Flash out of the program? Was lying the best way to keep him in? Was honesty not a virtue she valued highly? Was keeping Flash worth going against her principles? What kind of example was she setting? Was her motive truly selfless? She didn't have time to think!

Flash looked at Betty, willing her to save him.

Finally, convinced her moral duty was to save Flash and that this particular lie was an acceptable way to do it, but even more apprehensive now she knew it would be in writing, Betty responded weakly, "Yes."

"Name, please?" said Constable Parker, looking at his clipboard and getting his pen ready.

"Let me give you my card," said Betty.

Betty looked down and rummaged through her purse, letting her hair hang in front of her face, glad to have a reason to hide from his scrutiny for a moment.

Pulling the card out, she said, "Here's everything about me." She stood and waited, resolute but dreading what horror might befall her because of it.

Constable Parker took the card and looked it over, "Mode Magazine? Why is someone from Mode Magazine working _here__?_"

Happy for the diversion, Betty enthusiastically explained the competition and the play the teens were performing and how it would help them and promote the charity. She gave Constable Parker a playbill and invited him and the other police officers to the performance. Constable Parker thanked Betty for volunteering in the community.

Fortunately for Betty, knowing he had more pressing concerns on his roster he decided to forgo any further inquiry. Constable Parker winked and said, "Okay, must have been a mistake, happens all the time."

Constable Parker shook hands with Flash, dazed and relieved, and said, "Sorry about the mistake, son, but remember, I've got my eyes on you, okay?"

After Constable Parker left, Fiona pulled Betty to the side, and said, "Why did you say that?"

Silently thanking her lucky stars for getting away with it, Betty said, "He's a good kid and he needs to be here, I just know it."

She smiled reassuringly at Flash as they joined the circle of other students and Marc, everyone silently regarding Betty with a new respect.

Betty said brightly, "Okay, let's pretend that didn't happen and get back to work."

* * *

Monday evening the teens' parents were invited to the charity to meet Betty and Marc and learn about the play that Mode Magazine was organizing for them.

Carrying a container of chicken soup and a thermos, Gio entered the room and looked around for Betty. As he approached her, he saw she was surrounded by several teens and parents, handing out playbills and tickets, and talking animatedly with them.

"Hi!" said Betty, smiling when she spotted Gio walking towards her. She covered her face with her hands, warding off an embrace, and shouted a warning to him, "Germs!"

Gio smiled and held out the thermos, "I have some sage and honey tea for you. It's an ancient Italian remedy, passed down from generation to generation of the Rossi family since the dinosaurs roamed the Tuscan valleys. Want to give it a try?"

"Of course," said Betty taking the thermos.

"And some soup," said Gio, handing her the container.

"Thank you!" said Betty eagerly. "I'm sorry for ruining our date night, but this is the first night we could get."

"No problem, I'm glad to get a chance to see where you've been hanging out these days. This is a corner of New York I wouldn't normally see."

"I know what you mean," said Betty in a hoarse voice. "Thank you for coming."

"Shouldn't you see a doctor about your throat?"

"No, I don't have time, and besides there are enough antibiotics in the environment as it is. It's only been a few days."

"Seven … but who's counting," said Gio. "Give the tea a try."

"I will," said Betty, setting the container and thermos on a table. Betty turned to Flash, who'd been trailing close to her all evening, "Flash, this is Gio. Gio, Flash."

"Nice to meet you Mister Suarez," said Flash, extending his hand.

"No," corrected Betty. "His name is Gio Rossi. I'm going to be _Mrs. Rossi_."

"Nice to meet you Mister Rossi," said Flash, looking to Betty for approval.

"You can call him Gio," said Betty. Fiona made the teens call her Miss Suarez but that rule didn't apply to Gio.

"Nice to meet you, Gio," said Flash, smiling and shaking hands warmly with Gio.

Marc brought Bling and his mother, Joy, a slim young woman carrying a baby girl on her hip, over to meet her. Since they had very little English, Marc couldn't understand what the mother was trying to say to him.

Joy spoke to Flash in their own language for a few minutes. She was clearly agitated and had something important she wanted to communicate to Betty.

"She say you buy gum for Bling," said Flash. "She say bad."

"Oh," said Betty, surprised, wondering what could be wrong with gum.

"It's healthy," said Betty, guessing that Joy didn't approve of candy. She waited for Flash to translate it for her.

Joy was no less upset upon hearing this, or whatever it was that Flash actually said to her.

"It was sugarless gum," said Betty, frustrated, gesturing with her hands. Betty thought hard, wondering whether it was possible to explain artificial sweeteners in simple terms.

Seeing Betty, Flash, Bling, Joy, Marc, and Gio engaged in an energetic discussion Fiona approached the group.

"No," said Flash to Betty, "Don't give to Bling, he buy."

"Do you know what's wrong?" asked Betty of Fiona.

"Sounds like you offended Joy by giving Bling the gum rather than letting him buy it himself."

"Oh!" said Betty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Flash, tell her I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Flash and Joy talked for a few minutes. Joy was evidently upset about something else and was explaining it to Flash.

"She say how play help Bling?" asked Flash. "He need job."

"Uh, oh," said Betty, concerned. "This isn't an employment program. Fiona, how can I explain what this program is about?"

"Let me try," said Fiona. "I have some pamphlets that have been translated, in my office. Flash, please come, too."

Fiona took Joy, Bling, and Flash to her office.

"Maybe Wilhelmina's plan to teach them to sew wasn't such a bad idea," said Marc shrugging. "Who would ever have guessed she might have been right about something?"

"No, Marc!" said Betty, perturbed, coughing. "It was _not_ right. The only problem is that I don't know how to explain it to her."

"She'll come around, Buttercup," said Gio, stifling a yawn. "I know you're doing the right thing."

"I hope so, lunk-head," said Betty, smiling ruefully at Gio. "Wait till you hear about Constable Parker."

"Who is he?" said Gio, rubbing his eyes.

Betty observed dark circles under Gio's eyes. "I'll tell you later, I better wrap this up. You look like you need to get some sleep."

* * *

Tuesday morning, Betty, a sheaf of playbills under her arm, entered the Regal Park convenience store door, making its door chime ring, looking for Harold. The store was empty, with not even Harold visible, an unusual occurrence. Betty walked toward the cash register and, remembering Santos's death in a convenience store robbery, approached the counter with a sense of dread, afraid she might find Harold's bullet ridden body lying behind it. As she leaned over the counter to look down, scared to look, she was startled by the sound of Harold's step behind her. Betty jerked around and knocked some packages of gum onto the floor.

"Hi, Betty," said Harold, coming out of the back room, smiling, the hair he had left combed neatly, dressed in a new white shirt.

"Harold!" exclaimed Betty.

Harold squatted down to pick up the packages, "I was hoping you'd come in today."

Betty leaned down to help pick up the gum, "Sorry, you surprised me."

Once everything was back in place, Harold went to his usual spot behind the counter.

"What would you like, Betty?" asked Harold amiably.

"I brought you some money to pay you back for Flash and Bling," Betty said, reaching into her purse to pull out her wallet.

"You don't have to do that," said Harold.

"I want to," said Betty. "I understand how you must feel about them … those kids. You should be compensated."

"Is it from the charity?" asked Harold. "Why would they want to waste their money on me?"

"No, it isn't theirs. It's my own," said Betty hoarsely, coughing. "You wouldn't be depriving them."

"I can't accept it," said Harold, and he chuckled, "Anyway, how would I declare it on my income tax?"

"I don't know," said Betty. "But you have to take it."

"No, I insist … put your wallet away. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Harold, do you think you could give Bling a job here?" asked Betty.

"What! So it'll be even _easier_ for him to steal from me?" exclaimed Harold, flabbergasted by the suggestion.

"No!" said Betty. "So he can earn some money and pay you back."

"Oh," said Harold. "I don't know. I never have kids working here. I guess I could think about it. Betty, I'll think about it, but I don't know. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, I brought our playbills advertising the play the teens and I are doing. I was hoping that you'd come to it and post one of these here."

"Sure, I'll come," said Harold, glad to get an easy-to-fulfill request. "Give me a poster and I'll put it up"

"How many tickets do you want?" asked Betty.

"One," said Harold, smiling. "Thanks for inviting me."

"You can have more if you want," said Betty. "Do you want some for your family?"

"No," said Harold, blushing, flustered. "There's no one else."

Betty handed Harold a ticket.

"Anything else you want today?" asked Harold.

"Um," said Betty, happy that Harold was reacting more positively than she thought he might. "There _is_ something else you could do."

"What?" asked Harold, leaning forward on the counter.

"Could you deliver some of these to the other stores around here for me? I have a lot to hand out."

"Oh, sure," said Harold, "give me a dozen or so."

Harold wondered when he'd get a chance to do it since he didn't often take breaks, but he wanted to please Betty. He'd been sorry immediately after she left the store before, when he'd reacted so harshly to the charity she was helping.

A couple entered the store, setting off the door chime, and headed towards the drink cooler at the back.

"Thank you!" said Betty, while counting out twelve posters.

Betty handed Harold the posters and turned to walk out of the store as the woman put a carton of milk on the counter.

"Betty," said Harold as Betty reached the door, holding the milk carton in his hand.

Betty turned back, "What, Harold?"

"Uh," Harold squeaked, awkward and tense. "Do you want more cough drops? Take some, I won't charge you."

"No, thanks," said Betty, turning to the door. "I have enough."

"Betty," said Harold as soon as Betty pushed on the door again. The woman was tapping a finger on the counter, a bill fluttering in her hand.

Betty stopped and turned around to look at Harold, "What is it?"

Panicked, Harold blurted out, "Betty, will you go out with me sometime?"

"Huh?" said Betty, not comprehending.

"You and me, do you want to go out to dinner or a movie?" said Harold hurriedly, tongue-tied, his face turning red, "Or dinner _and_ a movie? Anything you want to do."

"Oh, Harold," said Betty, finally understanding his intentions. "No, I can't … but, thank you."

"Of course, I understand," said Harold, his hopes dashed, feeling like an idiot because he did _not_ understand, perplexed he had said he did. He took the bill from the woman's hand, an automatic response, and pressed a button on the till, which dinged, continuing to look at Betty. Although he didn't understand why she couldn't, he understood that she didn't want to, and that was all it took to shatter him.

"I'm engaged," said Betty, wanting to explain, seeing it'd been hard for Harold to ask, and knowing her answer had hurt him.

"Sure," said Harold, embarrassed by the situation, distressed his pitiful overture was rejected. "Of course, you would be."

He had already checked her hand for a ring. There was no ring. He assumed she was making the engagement up, a lie to avoid going out with him, a lie to spare his feelings. It was just the kind of thing a sweet person like Betty would do.

"Bye," said Betty. "Thanks for taking the posters."

"You're welcome, Betty. Bye," said Harold, crestfallen, watching her until she was out of sight.

Turning to the impatient woman in front of him, Harold wished he was anywhere else but where he was.

"I'm sorry about that," said Harold dejectedly, adding mechanically, "Do you want anything else?"


	13. An Omelette Surprise has a Frozen Center

Betty's First Trip To Rome – The Return - Chapter 13 An Omelette Surprise has a Frozen Center

Tuesday night Betty typed and revised the script adding in the ideas from Hilda and the kids. The play would resonate with them because it would be about them, the story illustrated by their experiences and lives.

Losing track of time, soon it was late, after eleven. She was the only one left in the building. She looked out the window and saw the park was dark and quiet. Pools of pale light fell on the ground around each lamp post. Nick's park bench was in complete shadow, she couldn't tell if he was there or not. She'd have to leave right away if wanted to get back to the apartment before Gio called her. She considered asking Gio to pick her up, but she'd have to wait almost an hour for Gio to get off work, and it would keep him up even later than usual. It would only take a few minutes to get across the park so she decided to go.

Picking up her laptop bag, grabbing her purse and turning off the lights, she headed down the staircase into the building's quiet and eerie lobby, hurrying to get out of it, heaving the door open and rushing outside. The door shut behind her with a thud and click. By the time she heard the click she regretted going out, seeing the desolate park, but the door was locked and she didn't have a key.

She took a couple of steps towards the park. She'd walked through it before when it was dark but never this late. It looked forbidding and she considered walking around it but the lonely streets didn't look safe either. She couldn't stay where she was and it was quicker through the park. She hoped Nick was on his bench, if he was there she would feel safer.

About half way to Nick's bench, Betty heard a door slam and dogs barking. She looked back and saw a couple of people behind her, wearing caps and sweatshirts. She hurried faster fearing being followed. Soon she would be at Nick's bench and she tried to see if he was there but it was hidden in the darkness.

Hearing police sirens in the distance and newspapers scuttling across the ground, she held her breath listening for footsteps behind her, afraid someone coming. Clutching her purse and laptop bag she quickened her pace, almost running by the time she reached Nick's bench. He was there! She was relieved and called out to Nick, but the man who stood up from the bench was too big. A stranger stood in her way.

Her heart pounding, Betty stopped short. In the dim light she could see a glint in the man's hand. Was he holding a knife, a gun? Petrified, she heard someone behind her running.

"Give it!" demanded the man, grabbing for her purse. "Quick!"

Betty was so scared she couldn't move. It was like a dream, she wanted to hand it to him but couldn't. As the man reached out towards her she froze and clenched her eyes shut.

"Let go!" shouted a voice behind her.

Betty prayed silently, realizing how foolish it was to walk across the park at night, in a neighborhood so bad even a mugger was getting mugged. Eyes squeezed closed, she tried to hold out her purse and laptop bag. She had her ring in her purse and hours of work in the files on the laptop but she didn't care anymore, she just wanted to be safe.

She heard a struggle between the muggers and felt hands on her back shoving her.

Betty screamed a piercing, terrified shriek.

Glasses flying, purse and laptop slamming into her back, she fell to the ground. Hearing voices yelling, feeling pain from her face smacking onto the pavement and a heel landing on her outstretched hand, tasting dirt and blood, she blacked out.

* * *

That night had begun like any other evening. Harold had closed the shop about nine thirty, counted the cash in the till, restocked the shelves, filed the invoices, mopped the floors, heading upstairs to his home after about an hour. Turning on the television to the sports channel, he fed the cat and made his dinner, a dinner for one - chicken, boiled potatoes, and green beans, same as his mother used to make him. He sat on the chesterfield, the cat purring and licking himself beside him, and ate his meal watching soccer. He didn't know what country the game was being played in, but it took his mind off work.

He had inherited the store from his parents. They'd owned the building, adjacent to Regal Park, their entire married lives. It was the first thing the newlyweds bought when they arrived in America, defying their families by leaving the old country. Downstairs was the store and upstairs was their home. They had brought Harold home from the hospital to it. His whole life revolved around the store, starting as a baby playing near his mother, and later manning the till, and doing the other assorted jobs. All three of them took turns doing everything. It was a nice community then, with many thriving businesses, and his school chums often dropping by.

His mother would never have let him eat on the chesterfield; she was adamant that the three of them eat at the dining table every night, beside the window overlooking the park. But that was then, when she was still alive. He missed her dearly, missed both his parents, even though it had been years since they died. He didn't leave home when he grew up; he stayed, living in the same bedroom, keeping the same routine, working in the same store. No, he hadn't left home - it was his mother and father who had left it.

One day, almost five years ago, celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary and last mortgage payment, his parents left him in charge, packing up and driving to a weekend holiday upstate. But they never came back, both killed instantly in a horrific car crash. He never recovered from the trauma of losing them so suddenly. The responsibilities of the aftermath, living alone for the first time, managing the store, had overwhelmed him. Working seven days a week, month in, month out, it was only now, finally surfacing from the grief, did he realize that he no longer had any friends, did nothing other than work, and didn't recognize the store's customers or his neighbors anymore. The neighborhood was different, everyone he knew had moved away. It was dangerous and violent now, businesses closing, crime rampant, and his store in decline.

How had it happened? His life passing him by, so fast, over thirty and alone, he was terribly lonely. He had never planned it that way. He had always wanted a family, a wife and kids. Was it too late?

What a fool he'd been today, thinking that Betty might be interested in him. How desperate he must have seemed to her.

But it was true. He was desperate, wanting to find a wife without any idea how to go about it.

Harold finished his dinner and was about to wash his plate when he heard a sound from the park, a woman's scream. He looked out of the dining room window and could see a scuffle in the gloom under the oak tree.

Searching through a kitchen drawer, he grabbed a gun, and went out to investigate.

* * *

Turning his cell phone to vibrate when he arrived at the hotel kitchen for his eight o'clock shift, Gio noticed that the battery was very low, almost out. He wasn't allowed to use his cell phone when he was in the kitchen so he wouldn't need it that evening but afterwards when he got home to bed he would call Betty.

Gio would lie in bed naked and imagine Betty was lying naked beside him, and they'd talk bedroom talk. Betty, once painfully modest and shy was becoming less inhibited, making their calls more enticing. He called her every night and sometimes they would talk for an hour, but tonight his phone would not be able to last for more than five or ten minutes. Of course, he could use the house phone's cordless handset, but he could never be absolutely certain his vexing little sister Antonella wasn't listening in on the other one. The uncertainty meant that topics not suitable for her ears would be off limits. Naturally, the off-limits topics were exactly the ones he most looked forward to talking about. Cursing the cell phone's always-draining batteries he put it in his chef-jacket's pocket and began setting up his station.

A typical hot and humid August evening in New York, the kitchen was blazing hot, but despite the heat Gio wore the heavy jacket fully buttoned, the collar high around his neck. He had worked there about a week and had become accustomed to the high expectations and rigid rules of his temperamental boss. He kept a menu and set of the recipes at home and studied the techniques for them from the books he had borrowed from the library. He wanted to impress the head chef by being ready to make any dish that could be ordered. The other new cook, Karl, had been in training for a few weeks and was only a little ahead of him. If Gio could overtake Karl he would be next in line for a promotion, otherwise Karl would get it. An opening could happen at any time and Gio wanted to be chosen, therefore he worked hard to surpass Karl.

The rotund bellicose head chef was his usual acerbic self that night, ordering all the cooks around nastily, giving generous tongue lashings for even the smallest error in anyone's dish. His pride was prodigious and so he made sure everything served was faultless. At one point in the evening he spoke to Gio and Karl, at their adjacent stations, saying that a higher ranking position would be opening up soon and that he would chose one of them for it. That night Gio and Karl were in competition, trying to impress the head chef, and both being especially careful to avoid any errors.

Just after eleven two orders for Baked Alaska arrived at the kitchen. Both orders were for the same table so they would be served together. Gio and Karl simultaneously signaled to the head chef that they were available to take the order. Gio knew Baked Alaska, called omelette surprise in France, where it originated, was a dessert made from an ice cream center covered with a meringue, baked in a very hot oven for three minutes. The assembly was simple, the ice cream center was already prepared in the freezer, and the meringue topping was similar to other recipes. The only tricky part was timing the cooking precisely to avoid over baking the meringue and melting the ice cream. Gio was confident that he was ready to try this recipe for the first time. Karl, however, had successfully made the flamboyant dessert a few times before.

"Two orders, Baked Alaska, to Karl!" yelled the head chef.

Disappointed, Gio crossed his arms and glared at the head chef. How would he ever get ahead of Karl if he didn't get a chance to cook new dishes?

Seeing Gio's reaction the head chef changed his mind, "No, make that one order to Karl and one to Gio. I'll see who makes the better one!"

The already intense rivalry between Karl and Gio was fueled by the challenge and both leapt into action to assemble the required ingredients. Karl was quicker at separating the egg whites for the meringue and started whipping them first. Gio tried to catch up but he had to be cautious not to break the fragile egg yolks. Finally ready, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, Gio whisked furiously to foam the meringue. It took Karl about ten minutes to get his frozen center covered with a frothy coating of delicately peaked meringue and as soon as he could he popped it into the hot oven. Not only did Karl wish to make the best Baked Alaska, he wished to have his cooked first. Karl waited until the meringue was browned to perfection and took it out of the oven just when Gio was ready to put his in. Feeling confident, Karl smugly held the oven door open for Gio and then took his dessert to the serving station at the front to be plated by the head chef. Karl turned to watch Gio because in exactly three minutes, when Gio brought his forward, the head chef would compare them. Unconscious of the scorching heat radiating from the oven and the sweat droplets forming on his face, Gio slid his dessert under the oven's glowing elements, its smoothly peaked white meringue reflecting the orange light, proud that it looked exactly like the picture in his cookbook.

Just as he closed the oven door Gio felt his cell phone vibrate. He rarely received calls when he was at the hotel kitchen since he'd told everyone that they shouldn't call him there. He debated not looking at it and letting it go to voice mail but he had a couple of minutes before the meringue would start to brown and decided it would only take a moment to sneak into the pantry and look at the call display to see who was calling him.

Wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his arm, he slipped into the pantry and looked at the phone. It was Betty! Betty knew that she shouldn't call him before midnight unless it was an emergency. Gio turned his back to the door of the pantry and answered the phone.

"Betty, talk fast!" said Gio, quietly and hastily, worried that he would be overheard and concerned about the meringue.

"Gio?" said a male voice.

"Yes," answered Gio, alarmed. "Who are you? Why are you calling me?"

"Betty hurt," answered the voice, in a familiar accent.

"Where is Betty? Is this Flash? Why do you have her phone?" asked Gio. All thoughts other than Betty fled his mind.

"In Regal Park," Flash answered.

Gio didn't know why Betty would be in Regal Park at that time of night. He wondered how long she'd been there.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," said Gio.

"Okay."

Gio was about to ask Flash another question when his phone disconnected because its battery went dead.

Meanwhile, noticing Gio abandon his Baked Alaska to go to the pantry, Karl was hovering around the oven watching the dessert. The color was perfect and it needed to come out of the oven immediately or it would overcook.

Karl paused to think, since no one else had noticed Gio's absence he could leave it in the oven and let it be ruined and win the test. But it would be a terrible waste if he didn't get it out and he respected Gio's skill, it looked beautiful. He debated with himself for another moment, knowing he had to decide instantly. Finally, thinking of the diner waiting to eat it, he pulled it out of the oven and took it up to the front, sliding it, unnoticed, beside the his own, while the head chef's back was turned. Waiting in suspense, Karl stood close by, wondering why Gio had disappeared, thinking both desserts looked superb, jealous that Gio's first attempt at the dessert looked as good as his, kicking himself for not leaving it in for another few seconds when he had the chance so it would have been slightly overdone.

With Karl wringing his hands nervously beside him, the head chef examined each dessert minutely. "I've made my decision," he said solemnly, his voice booming, looking around for Gio.

"Where's Gio?" said the head chef to Karl.

Karl shrugged and tilted his head towards the pantry. He'd saved Gio's dessert but he wasn't going to save his hide.

The head chef started to bellow and holler, lambasting Gio for leaving the kitchen at that moment, and everyone in the kitchen heard the commotion and stopped to watch as he stomped to the pantry to confront Gio. When he reached the doorway he saw Gio coming out with a cell phone in his hand.

"What's wrong with you?" he roared at Gio, blocking his way. "No phones!"

Frantic, Gio pushed past the head chef, "I have to go!"

Seeing Gio leaving, the head-chef's rage grew and he stood open mouthed, beet red and dreadfully frustrated, wanting to throw Gio out of the kitchen but missing his chance to do it.

To the astonishment of everyone in the kitchen, Gio ignored the fury of the head chef and ran out of the exit, leaving the door wide open.

Gio jumped in the van and drove on auto-pilot, thanking god as he sped through green lights and cursing the eternity it took red ones to change, reaching the park in record time, his mind racing, delirious from worry and furious at his useless phone. He double parked about half a block up from the Regal Park subway staircase, at the entrance to the park.

Jumping out and racing along the path, he scanned the dark and silent park intently. He didn't see anyone anywhere. He desperately needed to call Betty's cell and was so aggravated with his dead phone he wanted to smash it on the ground. When he reached Nick's bench he saw a black sweatshirt and white t-shirt lying on the path and knelt to examine them. The t-shirt was bloody, the blood still fresh. Spying Betty's twisted glasses lying in the grass nearby, Gio felt a sickening chill come over him.

"Betty, where are you?" screamed Gio. "Bett-eeeeee!" Sounding like the anguished cry of a wounded animal, her name echoed off the surrounding buildings.

He picked up Betty's glasses and turned around looking for a pay phone and realized it was a bad time for anyone, including himself, to be alone in that park.

Hearing the sound of running footsteps, Gio quickly turned in the opposite direction and ran.

* * *

The pungent scent of perspiration filling her nostrils, Betty awoke to a smelly t-shirt being wiped under her nose. She opened her eyes but it was very dark, she could barely see Flash, who was kneeling above her, shirtless, his black sweatshirt on the ground, white t-shirt in his hand. Someone behind her was cradling her head.

Betty wanted to see who it was but when she turned to look, the pain stopped her, "Ow! Is that you, Bling?"

"Miss Suarez, you okay?" asked Flash.

"I don't know," said Betty, checking herself. She noticed her face hurting, hand hurting, glasses missing, and head aching. She touched her face with her good hand, and ascertained that her nose, which had bled heavily into Flash's t-shirt, had stopped bleeding. "I guess I'm okay."

Flash gave her cell phone to her, "Gio come."

"Thank you," said Betty. She started to remember what had happened, she'd been mugged, but strangely she could see her purse and laptop beside her, "What happened, Flash? Why didn't the man take these?"

"We here. We chase him," said Flash.

"Why were you here?" asked Betty.

"Wait for you," said Flash. "Why you out so late?"

"I was going to ask you that!" said Betty. "I was writing and lost track of time."

Betty tried to sit up but instead screamed from pain, her right hand aching when she touched the ground.

"Stop!" shouted a man from a distance, running towards them. "I have a gun!"

Fearing an attack, Flash threw himself over Betty, putting his arms around her and covering her protectively. Betty's face was pressed into Flash's bare chest and the strong scent of sweat helped revive her more. Bling dropped Betty's head, making her cry out, and hurled himself onto the ground face down, arms over his head, howling in fear. Betty's nose started to bleed again.

"Get off of her!" ordered the man.

"Don't shoot!" cried Betty, cowering under Flash's body, terrified.

The man recognized Betty's voice. "Betty is that you? What's going on?"

"Harold!" said Betty, making out who it was. "Thank god it's you."

Flash sat up when he realized it was Harold holding the gun. Bling stopped wailing.

"What happened?" asked Harold.

Betty picked up the t-shirt and pressed it against her nose and in a muffled voice said, "I almost got mugged and I have a nose bleed."

"Are you alright?" said Harold. "Come on in and I'll wash your face."

Flash stood up and picked up Betty's purse and laptop bag. Betty dropped the t-shirt and tried to stand up, but couldn't because of her sore hand. Bling and Harold pulled her up and supported her the short distance to Harold's store, climbing up the stairs and entering his home above.

Harold told Flash and Bling to sit with Betty on the chesterfield, tucked a few pillows around her, and went to get a basin of warm water and a wash cloth.

Harold gave Betty a pill for the headache and, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, he washed her face and soon she began to feel better. Although not seriously hurt she was disoriented and shaken up.

Recovering from the fright, Betty looked around her. She was sitting on a comfortable chesterfield in a cozy living room, its overstuffed chairs piled with hand-embroidered pillows, a quaint floor lamp casting a warm glow. A cat walked around the edges of the room meowing at the three guests.

Betty, her cell phone still clutched tightly in her hand, dialed Gio but the call went straight to voice mail because his phone was off. Puzzled, she left a message telling him where she was.

Seeing Harold's gun on the coffee table beside him, Betty said, "Shouldn't you put that away?"

"Don't worry about it," replied Harold. "It's not loaded."

"This is a real nice place," said Betty. "Who made the pillows?"

"My mother," said Harold, pleased.

Betty glanced around the room and saw other feminine decorations, the lace curtains, and pictures of Harold at various ages with his mother and father. Looking at a picture of Harold posed in a graduation cap and gown mounted in an ornate frame, Betty asked, "Does she live here too?"

"No. She used to," said Harold, following Betty's gaze, "but she's dead." Harold tried to look nonchalant while saying this, but failed miserably.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My mother passed away too," said Betty. A violent longing for the comfort and safety of her mother's embrace washed over her as a vivid but fleeting memory of her mother suddenly appeared in her mind.

"You never get over it," choked Betty, wiping a tear from her eye.

Harold apologized for his embarrassing behavior that morning and ended up spilling out all the details of his life and how he had inherited the store while Betty listened to him sympathetically.

When he was done, he said sadly, "I'm sorry if I bored you with my pathetic life."

"No, you didn't," said Betty. "Your parent's lives are a romantic story, and even their deaths were kind of, too."

"How do you figure that?" asked Harold.

"They did everything together – they came to New York together, ran the store together, raised you together, and they died together too. Neither one ever had to live without the other."

"Oh," said Harold, thinking about the devastating car crash in a new way, a little bit less tragic way.

"But it was harsh on you, of course," said Betty, squeezing his hand. "No one would say otherwise."

They were interrupted by the sound of Gio's wail in the park and Flash jumped up and ran out to fetch him.

Soon, Gio, wearing his immaculate white chef's uniform, jacket buttoned neatly from hem to shoulder, his name embroidered on the chest pocket, flushed and panting, burst into the room with Flash one step behind him.

Gio saw Betty, dazed and disheveled but safe, sitting on the comfortable chesterfield in the cozy room, supported by pillows and Bling, and immediately fell to his knees at her feet and thanked God and everyone else he could think of, reaching out to hold her hands.

Feeling Gio about to squeeze her bruised hand, Betty yelped and snatched it back, smacking herself in the face, making her nose bleed again.

Apologizing repeatedly and picking up the wash cloth, Gio sat on the chesterfield beside Betty and wiped her nose, gently pinching it to stop the bleeding.

After Gio had heard the story of what happened and she had thanked everyone for helping, Betty hugged Howard, Flash and Bling, laughing when she told Flash and Bling not to tell Mrs. Brown that she'd hugged them.

Then Gio drove Betty to a clinic, telling her it was 'just in case' when she protested. Betty told Gio she didn't need to go, apologized for keeping him up late, said she was fine and that nothing had happened, but Gio insisted.

At the clinic, while waiting for Betty to get her scratches bandaged, Gio borrowed the office's phone and called the Suarez home.

"Hello?" answered Hilda, groggy from sleep.

"Hilda, it's Gio, I need your help."

"What's up?" said Hilda. "What time is it?"

"It's about midnight. Listen, Betty was mugged. No, almost mugged. We're at the doctor's and she's okay but I don't think she should be left alone tonight."

"Oh my god! Bring her here!"

"I want to, but she supposed to be at Sondra's and she wants to go back there."

"But she needs to come home."

"I know, I think so too. But you know Betty, she's stubborn. I thought maybe you could go with her to Sondra's apartment."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, right now."

"Gio, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course you can, Hilda, don't you remember the day you chose my underwear? I think we've crossed that bridge."

"Well, it's just that I was wondering why _you_ aren't staying with her. I don't understand."

"Oh, that!" said Gio. "Believe me, I would if I could. You didn't hear about Banjo?"

"Banjo?"

"Sondra's pampered pooch. He doesn't like me and won't let me come in."

"Oh, thank God," said Hilda, happily surprised, rejoicing and laughing heartily, greatly relieved by the innocuous explanation.

"I know it _seems_ funny," said Gio, still peeved from Betty splitting her sides while throwing him out. "But it isn't all _that_ funny."

"Sorry," said Hilda, out of breath from laughing, "It's just that I was so worried about what was wrong between you two."

"Nothing's wrong, it's just kind of frustrating," said Gio. "Pack a bag and we'll be there in thirty minutes."

"I'll be ready," replied Hilda.

Later, when getting ready for bed at Sondra's apartment, Betty hugged Hilda and sobbed in relief, immensely relieved, frightened of what could have happened to her if Flash had not been there, and terrified of what could have happened to him because he was.


	14. Just like Swallowing a Pill

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 14 Just like Swallowing a Pill

Midnight on Tuesday, a nurse, Daniel, and Renee were in the hospital ward's mother's room, a small room lit by cozy lamps with several comfortable sofas and chairs, a few coffee tables, two large windows looking over the quiet, darkened streets, and three large humming vending machines clustered in the corner.

Daniel picked up the tiny, sleeping two-day-old Marina from Renee's lap and laid her gently into the hospital basinet, ready for the nurse to wheel her away to the nursery.

"When can we take her home?" said Renee, her clothes crumpled, slumped on a sofa, tired from staying at the hospital day and night to bond with the baby.

"Soon," answered the nurse, "maybe tomorrow or the next day. We're keeping her in for observation while we wait for her color to improve. She's still yellow from neonatal jaundice but that normally clears up by itself in a few days."

"Is she going to be okay?" asked Renee to Daniel after the nurse left and they were alone in the room. "I want to be sure."

"She'll be fine, Renee," said Daniel. "The doctor said not to worry since there are rarely complications. Keeping her here is just a precaution. Should we go home for a nap?"

"I can't move," said Renee, chuckling. "You'd have to carry me."

Sitting down next to Renee, Daniel held her hand. "I could try that, but why don't we just rest here a bit first."

"Okay," said Renee, laying her head on Daniel's shoulder and closing her eyes.

Daniel pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket and said, "Before you fall asleep, I have something for you."

Renee popped her eyes open, "Something good?"

"No," said Daniel. "Just a pill, it's time to take a pill."

"Oh, you filled my prescription?" said Renee, picking up her purse and reaching out for the bottle. "Thank you."

"No," said Daniel, holding the bottle out of her reach. "Let me take care of them. You're so tired. I'll give you one."

"Daniel!" exclaimed Renee, surprised. "You don't have to do that. Give me the bottle."

"No," said Daniel firmly. "It's no problem."

"Daniel," said Renee, annoyed, "you're worse than the staff at rehab. Don't do this to me! I just got out of all that. I _hate_ it."

"I'm doing it for you," said Daniel. "The therapist said to do it this way."

"You're treating me like a baby!" cried Renee, exhaustion making her easily provoked.

"No, Renee," said Daniel. "I'm not. I'm just following his orders. I'm to keep the pills and see that you take them properly."

"What?" shouted Renee, glaring at Daniel. "You're controlling me now?"

Daniel put the bottle back in his pocket and petted Renee's hair gently, murmuring, "No, darling, no." Daniel continued to murmur quietly and stroke Renee.

"Oh, sorry," said Renee, calming down. "I suppose that sounded kind of paranoid."

"No, darling," said Daniel, lying. "I wasn't thinking anything like that."

"But I don't understand," said Renee. "I can't handle my own pills? I did before."

"It doesn't matter," said Daniel, soothingly. "It's only for a little while."

"You know I went to the best schools," said Renee. "I got better grades than Wilhelmina! Did you know that?"

"No," said Daniel, glad to have the topic of conversation changed but puzzled by Renee's non sequitur.

"I scored a genius level on the SAT numeracy exam," said Renee.

"Wow!" exclaimed Daniel, wondering why she was telling him this. "That's really great Renee."

"Daniel," said Renee emphatically, realizing he wasn't following her logic. "What I'm saying is that I am fully qualified to tell time and to count my pills."

"Oh," said Daniel. "It isn't about that."

"What?" exclaimed Renee. "Then what _is_ it about?"

"Do you remember anything about the pills you were taking before you set the fire?" asked Daniel while watching Renee's face intently. "Tell me about those pills."

"There's nothing to tell," said Renee, becoming defensive. "Nothing!"

"Something was different," said Daniel. "Don't you trust me? You can tell me."

"No, nothing was different," said Renee, getting riled up. "I was just taking the normal pills."

"Renee, please admit it. It's important that you admit what you did."

"Oh, no, not you too! The therapist badgered me over and over about those pills," said Renee curtly. "Leave it alone."

"I can't," said Daniel, sadly. "Renee, darling, I wish I could, but I can't."

"Why not?" cried Renee, frustrated. "I wish he had explained to me why he was asking. And now you are doing it too! Stop pestering me."

"Renee," said Daniel, seriously. "It would be so much better for you if you'd just admit it."

"Admit _what_ Daniel?" screamed Renee. "I don't know what you want me to say!"

"The therapist is waiting," said Daniel. "He's waiting for you to say it. It'll mean so much more to your recovery if you just confess."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Renee angrily. "But I can see you're hiding something from me. Why?"

"I'm sorry," said Daniel, distressed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "How can I expect you to be honest with me when I'm not with you?"

"So, you _are_ hiding something!" shouted Renee, shoving his arm away. "Daniel, I _trusted_ you!"

"I'm sorry," said Daniel tearfully, distressed by Renee's anger. "I don't want to let you down. I want to help you."

"Oh, Daniel," said Renee, reaching out to stroke his cheek, comforting him. "You're doing your best. I'm a wreck. What are you hiding?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you," said Daniel, sorry to have to keep secrets from Renee. "But I want to be honest. I don't know what to do."

"I want you to be honest," said Renee. "How are we going to survive if we aren't?"

"Okay," said Daniel. "But maybe I can tell you later, when you're rested. It's not good."

"No, now!" ordered Renee. "I want to know."

"Okay, I'm sorry," said Daniel. "The doctor told me not to tell you, but here it is. After the fire they took some blood tests from you. The tests showed you weren't taking your medication. It wasn't in your blood."

"No," said Renee, shocked. "That's impossible. It's a mistake. It has to be a mistake!"

"No," said Daniel. "No mistake."

"They must have mixed it up!" said Renee, irritated. "I didn't go off my pills! It's someone else's blood!"

"No, it was yours. And there was something else too," said Daniel, "something worse."

"What?" cried Renee. "What else could there be?"

"There was something in your blood that shouldn't be there. I can't remember the name of it but it was some chemical similar to speed."

"Oh my god!" cried Renee. "Impossible! I don't do drugs, Daniel. I can't explain how it got in there. I didn't take anything. You have to believe me."

"I want to believe you," said Daniel, taking Renee's hands in his and looking at her intently.

"I swear I'm not lying. Someone else is."

"No," said Daniel.

"Someone's framing me!"

"They can't be," said Daniel.

"God," said Renee. "Even I can hear how paranoid I sound. But I'm telling you, it isn't true. You have to believe me. It has to be a mistake."

"No, it isn't," said Daniel quietly. "I didn't believe it at first. I didn't want to believe it."

"Oh," said Renee, staring at Daniel, hands clenched into fists. "But you believe it now?"

"I made them prove it to me," said Daniel, dismally. "I made them repeat the test, and then do it a third time. I watched them take your blood. There was no doubt."

"I don't understand it," said Renee, shaking her head, confused.

"It's a fact."

"I don't know how," said Renee, bewildered. "How long have you known this?"

"Since the beginning."

"Daniel," said Renee, pausing to recall the day of the fire. "I don't know what to say."

"Come clean," said Daniel. "Just admit you switched the pills. The therapist said it'd be a big step in your recovery if you tell him you did it. He's waiting for it. He's waited a long time for you to say it. Just say it, Renee."

"I want to tell you what you want to hear, but I can't. I didn't do anything with my pills!"

"There's more," said Daniel.

"Oh, no!"

"Later, we found the pill bottle in your things," said Daniel. "Diet pills were in the bottle, not your meds. Renee, I think you're beautiful the way you are. You don't have to be thinner for me."

"That's not right!" exclaimed Renee. "I have no idea how it happened. Maybe the pharmacist tricked me."

"It's no good having thoughts like that," said Daniel calmly, rubbing her back.

Renee covered her face with her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks. "How can I make you believe I didn't switch my pills?"

Gently wiping her tears with a handkerchief, Daniel said, "Renee, you can't. I want to believe you but the facts are ..."

"It's a fact! Oh, Daniel, I have no memory of doing it," said Renee, sobbing. "I didn't _want_ to do it."

"That's okay," said Daniel, soothing her until she stopped crying. "Of course you didn't."

Renee shuddered, "But I did it … why?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'll never know."

"I'm afraid, I'm afraid for Marina. I can't even take care of myself! I love her too much to put her in danger."

"It'll be alright. We'll work together," said Daniel confidently. "We just have to be very careful with your pills … okay?"

"No! I can't handle it. She's too precious. Daniel, why didn't you tell me this before? I'm not fit to take care of her."

"Yes, you are. I'll help you. Let me help you."

"I'm so confused," said Renee, forlornly. "I don't understand what happened to me. Help me Daniel! _Please!_ You have to help me."

"I will," said Daniel, pulling Renee onto his lap and hugging her. "But you have to let me help you. You have to cooperate, let me give you your pills, take drug tests, everything."

"Okay," replied Renee, putting her arm around him, her trusting brown eyes looking lovingly into his adoring baby-blue ones.

Daniel kissed Renee sweetly and asked, "Will you take your pill now?"

"Yes, darling," said Renee, hugging Daniel, feeling safe in his arms. "I'll do whatever you say."

Daniel gave Renee her pill and smiled at her, cradling her in his arms, watching over her as she swallowed it and laid her head on his shoulder, soon falling into a deep, tranquil slumber.


	15. Chili Chocolate Cure All

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 15 The Chili Chocolate Cure-All

Wednesday morning, the morning after her frightening experience in the park, Betty trudged wearily up the Regal Park subway station staircase into the heat and blinding sunlight, which immediately triggered a searing headache, one arm around Hilda's arm, and the other wiping sweat from her forehead. She let her hair fall back over her face to hide her bruised and scratched cheek and the grey duct tape holding her glasses together. Betty had chosen to wear a polka-dotted blouse and garishly patterned skirt hoping to detract attention from her bandaged hand and other injuries.

"You wait here while I go in to thank Harold," said Betty when they reached the top step.

"You want me to go in with you?" asked Hilda protectively.

"No," said Betty. "I can do this myself."

"Are you sure?" asked Hilda, glancing at the men nearby, wearing football jerseys and chunky gold chains, casually bouncing basketballs, pleased to observe every eye was on her.

"Yes, I'm fine," said Betty. "Just wait here for Susie and Marc."

Betty pushed the door into Harold's store, setting off the door chime, relieved to find the cool and darkened interior subdued her throbbing headache.

At the sound of the door-chime Harold, standing at his usual spot behind the counter, looked up and exclaimed, "Oh, Betty! I didn't expect to see you back in this neighborhood so soon!"

"I had to come and thank you," said Betty, coughing into her bandaged hand. "I'm so glad you helped me. You were amazing."

"No, I wasn't. Anybody would've done the same thing," replied Harold blushing modestly, looking down and realizing the stack of playbills Betty gave him were still on his counter.

"How are you? Are you okay? You should take some time off," said Harold, picking up the playbills, not distracted from noticing her condition by the mismatched dots and patterns of her blouse and skirt.

"I'm fine and I have a lot of work to do. Have you thought about hiring Bling yet?" asked Betty, approaching the counter.

"Since yesterday?" said Harold. "No. No, I haven't."

"But, didn't you notice how good he was last night?" wheedled Betty.

"Was he? He didn't say a word," replied Harold, opening a drawer and pulling out a card that said 'back in ten minutes'.

"That's because he doesn't know any English," said Betty. "And he's shy." Kind of like you, thought Betty.

"Uh, I got to deliver these," said Harold, holding up the playbills. "I can do it now."

Betty stared hungrily at the rack filled with candy and chocolate bars as Harold came around the counter.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Harold said, "Here you go," and picked up a pack of cough drops and dropped it in her hand.

"Thanks," said Betty although she would have much preferred a chocolate bar. "Harold, you need to give Bling a chance. You could be his mentor."

"I don't know," said Harold, walking to the door.

"Bling and his mother, Joy, will be at the performance. Flash can translate for you. Joy's a single mother and Bling needs a job. I know you'll change your mind if you talk to them. Promise me you'll talk to them about it."

"I promise I will," said Harold, holding the door open for Betty. "I'll be there and I'll talk to them. I'll do it for you."

Meanwhile, Hilda had been leaning against the top of the staircase railing, her oversized sunglasses perched jauntily on top of her head of thick, long, wavy brown hair, wearing a skin-tight low-cut t-shirt flaunting her plumped up and tanned cleavage, white short-shorts, and high-heeled espadrilles, the white crisscrossed laces accentuating her long and shapely calves. The front of the bright orange t-shirt had a large black-bordered yellow diamond in the shape of a road sign emblazoned with the words 'warning, curves ahead'. She posed herself artfully, flicking her hair, happily basking in the resulting whistles from the men loitering nearby.

Shortly after Betty had gone into the store, Hilda recognized Marc leading two people up the staircase. Marc, wearing a striped navy and white jersey, knife-pleated and wide-cuffed trousers, beret, and deck shoes, was followed by Amanda, her long blond hair falling into tight ringlets, dressed in a revealing lace bustier, a school-girl plaid kilt and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes paired with white frilly ankle socks. The black bustier set off the creamy whiteness of her bosom and a large antique gold cross dangled between her breasts. Between them was a woman Hilda deduced must be Susie, dressed in a sensible light-weight business suit and carrying a large tote bag.

When they reached the top of the stairs Hilda said, "Hello, Marc." She thought he looked like a pretentious French sailor.

"Hello," replied Marc amiably, looking around for Betty. Everyone at Mode had heard about Betty's unfortunate incident of the night before.

"You must be Susie," said Hilda to Susie. "I'm Hilda, Betty's sister."

"Nice to meet you," said Susie. "Where is she?"

"In the store," said Hilda, waving at Harold's convenience store. "She'll be out in a minute."

Hilda circled around Amanda surveying her outfit, assessing it savagely. Amanda looked at Hilda through narrowed mascara-lined eyes in a similar manner. Neither Amanda nor Hilda made any effort to conceal their contempt for each other. The men picked up their basketballs and stared. An audience of curious pedestrians formed around Hilda, Amanda and Marc.

"Hello, Amanda," said Hilda icily. "I didn't know _you_ were expected."

"I wasn't, I'm volunteering," sneered Amanda, resting a graceful hand on her hip and snaking a finger into one of her golden ringlets. "It looks like you're ready to go to a beach in Noo Joy-ZEE."

Marc moved in, eager to watch Amanda and Hilda's sparring, but ready to jump between them if it became necessary.

"Hah! And in this," sputtered Hilda, pointing a perfectly manicured fingernail in a figure eight at Amanda's naughty Catholic schoolgirl ensemble and cross, "this sacrilegious hot mess … you look like you're ready to go to h-"

Hilda abruptly turned her head at the sound of Betty stepping out of the store into the blazing hot sunlight, followed by Harold who fastened his sign to the door and locked it behind him.

"Hell-lo Harold," said Hilda.

Harold blinked in the bright daylight and stared wide-eyed, dumbfounded by the bizarre sight of the underdressed girls close to attacking each other, the curiously dressed dandy wading into the fray, and the circle of passersby gathered around watching them. It wasn't the sort of thing he'd normally see in his neighborhood.

"Hello," said Harold, clutching the playbills nervously, "uh, I have to go." He ducked into the laundry next to his store.

"Hello," said Betty to everyone, the sunshine causing another headache to slam into her skull.

"How are you?" asked Susie solicitously.

"Fine," said Betty, trying to ignore her headache. "I will be fine."

Betty turned to Amanda and said crossly, "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you!" exclaimed Amanda. "I'm going to be in your play."

"Yes!" said Marc, clasping his hands gaily. "Amanda will be in your play! Isn't it wonderful?"

"No!" shouted Betty. "I don't want you."

"What?" exclaimed Amanda, wide-eyed, honestly surprised to be rejected. "But I'm beautiful!"

"There's no part for you," said Betty. "Go back to Mode."

"No," said Marc. "Come on, Betty. It's your play, you can fit her in. It doesn't have to be a lead role."

"Hey," said Amanda, cutting off Marc. "I should be a lead. I have a lot of acting experience."

"You do?" scoffed Betty. "Really?"

"Yes, a lot!" said Amanda. "I've been on TV!"

"That was acting?" asked Betty. "That was reality TV."

"Oh, yeah," said Amanda. "But everyday at Mode I act like I'm working! See? I have plenty of experience."

"Convincing, too," said Betty sarcastically. "But it doesn't matter, this play is about the teens, and all the parts are for them."

"I can sing!" said Amanda. "I can do anything."

Betty smiled as she remembered Amanda's embarrassing singing escapade at Bradford and Wilhelmina's almost-wedding.

"There's no singing. There's nothing for you," said Betty.

"Please, please, please," coaxed Marc. "She'll do anything!"

Amanda smiled seductively and looked at Betty through her lashes, batting them. "Betty, come on."

"Amanda, that doesn't work on girls," said Betty dismissively.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Amanda.

Amanda reached into her purse and pulled out a chili-flavored chocolate bar, held it in her palm, and, slapping her forehead, said, "Hey, I wonder where this came from! I don't even like this kind of chocolate. Do you want it?"

Betty thought the scrumptious looking chocolate bar might make her headache disappear but she refused to be manipulated so easily by Amanda. "No! Put it away and go back to Mode."

"But," said Marc, pointing at Betty's bandaged hand, "be sensible, you need help. Amanda could type for you."

Betty frowned and shook her head.

"Wait a minute," said Hilda, a smile forming on her lips. "I just thought of a part for Amanda. It's perfect for her."

"No," said Betty. "You don't know her."

"Oh, yes I do," said Hilda, smiling wickedly. "We can use her."

"Oh, okay," said Betty, too exasperated to argue anymore. "Amanda can stay."

Betty turned to Amanda, "As long as you agree to do anything I ask, and don't make me regret it!"

"Yay!" said Amanda, slipping the chocolate bar into Betty's bag.

"Yipee!" said Marc, putting his arm through Amanda's arm as they skipped, yellow-brick-road style, into the park.

"There's no dancing either!" shouted Betty at them, as she, Hilda and Susie followed after them.

"This better be good," hissed Betty at Hilda, thinking of the torment that Amanda was bound to inflict on her.

"It is," said Hilda, smiling wickedly. "She can be-"

Betty's cell phone rang interrupting Hilda.

"Hello, Daniel!" said Betty happily, listening for a minute. Marc and Amanda stopped skipping and crowded close to Betty, but they were unable to overhear what Daniel was saying.

"I'm fine!" said Betty. "Don't worry about me."

Betty listened to Daniel as the rest watched her intently.

"Wonderful news! Congratulations Daniel!" said Betty. "You can tell me all about it this afternoon because I have to come and see you. There's something important I want to ask you about."

Betty listened for a moment and said, "No, no, it's personal. I'll tell you about it when I see you, bye."

Putting her phone away, Betty announced to everyone, "Daniel made a huge breakthrough on the financial report! It's unbelievable!"

Marc leaned in close to Betty, his eyes gleaming brightly and said, "Pray tell! Pray tell! I need details!"

Betty squinted at Marc's face, suddenly suspicious of his motives. "I don't think I should tell you."

"Oh, come on," coaxed Marc. "You know I'd do _anything_ for you. Tell me."

"No. You'll find out when everyone else does. Come on, let's go."

When they reached Nick's bench Betty stepped into the refreshing shade of the huge oak tree and greeted Nick. She sat beside him on the bench and reached into her bag, pulling out a ticket for the play and Amanda's chocolate bar. The others stood a few steps away fascinated by the strange squirrel-feeding homeless man Betty had befriended.

"Nick, would you like a chocolate bar?" asked Betty.

"Yes, miss," replied Nick. "Thank you very much."

"And here's a ticket to our play. Can you come?" asked Betty.

"No. I can't afford it," said Nick.

"It's free. You don't have to pay anything," said Betty.

"But I don't deserve it," said Nick. "You better give it to somebody else."

"You're an important part of this community Nick," said Betty. "I want you to come."

"No, I'm not," said Nick, unwrapping the chocolate bar and holding it out. "You want a piece?"

"Thank you," said Betty, snapping off a square of chocolate and popping it into her mouth, the delicious chocolate melting instantly on her tongue.

Nick bit into the chocolate bar, hungrily devouring it in a few bites.

"You're important to me," said Betty. "And you know everyone. Please come."

"I wouldn't fit in," said Nick, gesturing at his unkempt hair and shabby clothes. "I would embarrass you."

"It doesn't matter what you look like," said Betty. "You're invited."

"I wouldn't know how to find it," said Nick, carefully folding up the shiny chocolate bar wrapper and sliding it into the breast pocket of his plaid flannel shirt.

"The address is right here on the ticket," said Betty, holding the ticket in front of him and pointing to it.

Nick stared blankly at the ticket and then back to Betty. "I better not. I'd just get lost."

"But the theatre is just a few blocks from here," said Betty.

Nick shook his head.

Hilda leaned to Betty's ear and whispered, "Maybe he doesn't know how to read."

Betty thought for a moment. "Nick, you've met Marc." Betty waved a hand towards Marc. "He'll come and get you."

Betty glared at Marc forcing him to turn his horrified expression into a fake smile.

"Wait here in the park that afternoon," said Betty, "and Marc will come to get you early enough that you can eat dinner with us at the theatre. Okay?"

"Thanks Miss Betty," replied Nick, smiling. "That'd be nice."

"Good. See you later," said Betty as she stood up and slung her bag on her shoulder, dreading reentering the blistering sunlight, her headache already building.

"Come on," said Betty to Susie, "it isn't far to the charity building from here."

"Why'd you do that?" whined Marc, falling in beside Betty. "Why me?"

"Because you _said_ you'd do anything for me," said Betty, satisfied to see him vexed.

"Ah," said Marc. "Touché."


	16. A Single Piece Of Candy

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 16 A Single Piece Of Candy

Hello peeps, faithful readers of my Spinning Yarn blog, I am texting you from here, in front of the theatre, waiting patiently in line for Mode's charity show. Very shortly, I shall be in the lobby hobnobbing with the who's who of the New York fashion scene. OH YES! This is undoubtedly the fashion world's most prominent charity event of the year and none other than yours truly scored a ticket from my BFF Susie, you've heard of her before, my college friend who is the temporary head seamstress at Mode _and_, I kid you not, a personal favorite of Wilhelmina Slater. And when I say Wilhelmina Slater, I DO mean THE Wilhelmina Slater, as _if!_

I am wearing a delightful creation of my own design which you can see by going to my second gallery page, and taking a look at the third item down. This version of that sweater has a lime green collar crocheted with hand-dyed hand-spun medium-weight organic Irish sheep's wool with body trimmed with magenta fluff lace hanging down from the knitted bodice. Okay, okay, you got me there, I must admit it, my outfit is something more than a tad warm for an August day in New York, but what can one do? An artist must promote, promote, promote, whenever they get the chance! All tired jokes of sweating in sweaters aside, no one could leave such a fine example of the worthy, world-class, woolen arts at home given this rare opportunity for incomparable exposure, now could they?

One day soon – it could be as soon as tomorrow! - I will be out of my parent's New Jersey basement and into a chic Manhattan shop where I belong! Haven't I mentioned so many times how my own personal efforts got Susie to where she is today? OMG, sorry I'm repeating myself, but selections from her year-end portfolio are in the Slater line! And where she goes, I am sure to follow!

Oooh, tacky, tacky, tacky! There's a guy here, swear to god, dressed like a retired lumberjack, asking for donations for a squirrel fund. OMG, he's asking for donations for his own cause at a charity fundraiser!?! What a nutcase! I can tell you who is a little squirrelly!

Pinch me, pinch me quick, there she is, there SHE is! I see HER … Wilhelmina Slater is stepping out of a limousine! What elegance, what poise, what darling shoes! Jimmy Choo's? Wish me luck, peeps, I'm going to dive into her path and show off my fancy finery.

Well, that was HIGHLY satisfactory if I do say so myself, and who else is there to say it? I got Wilhelmina's attention alright, no kidding, I nearly knocked her over and she turned and gave me a long stare, I mean she was really taking a good hard look! Then she SPOKE to me! No kidding! She said, 'you look hot', can you believe it? HOT! HOT! HOT! I was over the moon, insane with happiness, then of course I handed her a fistful of business cards. Woohoo, I'm feeling my luck changing today. Uh oh, the line is moving and I must leave you to take a seat. Stay tuned, keep refreshing your browser, and in two short hours you will be the first to hear my honest, intimate, and undeniably valuable firsthand opinion of the performance!

* * *

Suzuki St. Pierre, preened and mugged for his camera crew, stationed on the lobby's red carpet, waiting to interview the fashion elite arriving for Mode's charity performance.

"Wilhelmina!" called Suzuki, as she passed by him, "Wilhelmina, what can you tell us about the performance we're about to see? The secrecy is devastating. Don't I deserve some juicy tidbits?"

"I can tell you nothing," said Wilhelmina with a coy smile, striking several poses for the cameras. "You'll have to watch it and judge for yourself."

"How will this performance help the charity?" asked Suzuki. "What's the angle?"

"Who gives a damn?" said Wilhelmina coolly, with an imperial wave of her hand. "People in charity circles don't wear haute couture. As long as we _crush_ Elle in the competition, that's all that matters."

"Love the gown!" said Suzuki. "Who are you wearing?"

"This is a Susie original," said Wilhelmina, "my new designer for the Slater line. Susie did all the show's costumes."

"I'll be sure to let you all know," said Suzuki, winking at the camera slyly, "whether Wilhelmina's protégé is up to snuff."

"I think you'll be impressed," said Wilhelmina, turning to leave.

"We will find out very soon," intoned Suzuki, to the cameras, "is Susie a fashion goddess, or a fashion wish-she-was?"

"You'd be lucky to wear her," said Wilhelmina, giving a pointed, scathing look at Suzuki's ostentatious suit. "Now, I have nothing else for you!"

"And there she goes," said Suzuki, as soon as Wilhelmina was out of earshot, "the most gorgeous, most heartless, chicest, wickedest witch of them all. God love her!"

* * *

The audience was hushed and the house lights dimmed when Marc came out on stage to start the show.

The theatre was jammed, not one seat empty, packed with a diversity of patrons: well-do-do fashion-conscious yuppies seated beside the homeless, contest judges beside petty thieves, police officers beside artists, earnest activists beside cynical politicians, youths beside seniors, diamond-encrusted heiresses beside gold-chain draped thugs, firemen beside models, the intelligentsia beside the illiterate.

Marc told the audience that the scenes that they were about to see were based on true stories from the refugee teen's lives before they came to New York.

"Pauline!" announced Marc.

The lights were cut, plunging the theatre into darkness, and the curtain lifted.

A single bare light bulb, hanging over the middle of the stage, dimly illuminated a young girl, Pauline, sitting working at a sewing machine surrounded by stacks of dusty cardboard boxes and piles of fabric.

Rhythmically pumping the squeaking treadle with her foot, Pauline carefully pulled a length of plush fabric under the antique machine's needle.

Her hair braided down her back and wearing drab threadbare clothing, Amanda entered the stage carrying a large cardboard box spilling over with colorful fabric and approached the girl's sewing machine. The clack-clack-clack of the needle ceased.

"What does this say?" said Pauline, holding up a small white square of fabric.

"None of your business," said Amanda, setting down the box. "Get back to work. You have all this still to do."

"I want to know! I want to know how to read," cried Pauline.

"What do you care?" said Amanda. "You don't need to know how to read, you just need to know how to sew."

"Tell me anyway," said Pauline.

Amanda took the piece of fabric and held it under the dim light.

"Hang to dry," said Amanda, handing the fabric back.

"What does that mean?" asked Pauline, staring at it.

"Imbecile!" snarled Amanda. "It means you hang the shirt up to dry it."

"How else would you dry it?" asked Pauline.

"Shut up! The only thing you need to know is the big business man wants all this done today."

"Answer me first," said Pauline. "Then I'll do it."

"Normally they dry their clothes in a drying machine."

"A drying machine," said Pauline. "What is that?"

"A big box. A big, noisy box filled up with heated air," said Amanda. "It doesn't matter. I came here to tell you that you must finish these before you go today."

Amanda left the stage and Pauline, wiping her eyes from tiredness, resumed pumping the treadle of the sewing machine and pulling the fabric under the machine's clacking needle.

Ignacio, hunched over and pushing a worn broom entered the stage and swept away the dust and debris beside the sewing machine.

"How are you today?" asked Ignacio.

"Tired," said Pauline. "But I have to finish all these before I can go home."

"Do you want a candy?" Ignacio put down the broom and took a package out of his pocket.

"Thank you," said Pauline, taking one and sucking on it.

Ignacio picked up the broom and started to sweep away from Pauline.

"If I don't come back some day, don't worry about me," said Pauline.

"Why do you say that?" said Ignacio.

"I want to run away. Sometimes when I'm outside the village running, I don't want to stop," said Pauline.

"Where would you go?"

"Anywhere," said Pauline. "I'll just keep running and running until I get somewhere else."

"How would you live there?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I must find somewhere better than here."

The light bulb turned off leaving the stage in complete darkness.

Marc announced, "Bling!"

The lights came up and shone onto a boy sitting cross-legged on the empty stage.

Amanda came onto the stage wearing a pillow under her smock that made her look very pregnant, holding her belly, breathing hard and waddling comically.

The audience laughed as Amanda grabbed her huge distorted stomach and exaggerated her difficulty with walking.

"There you are, son," said Amanda, beckoning to Bling. "Hurry inside and hide, my father is coming. He's gone mad!"

Ignacio could be heard offstage, shouting. "Where is he? Where is the traitor?"

Marc ran in from the other side of the stage. "Wife, we must leave. He is threatening me!"

Marc and Bling ran to the back of the stage and hid from Ignacio by crouching behind a low wall.

"Daughter," said Ignacio running onto the stage brandishing an enormous machete. "Why did you marry him? He's our enemy. You have brought shame upon your family. Where is he? He's only good to us dead!"

"Father," shouted Amanda. "He's a good man! I love him. Leave him, I already have one dead husband, are you crazy enough to wish me a widow again?"

"He's not one of us," screamed Ignacio. "He'll betray us."

"No, I'll leave first," cried Amanda. "We'll go."

"Stop," screamed Ignacio, raising his machete above Amanda. "You're carrying the devil's child. I'll kill you too. There is only one way to restore our family's good name."

Amanda screamed a terrified shriek, "Run away, husband! Run!"

Marc and Bling ran out from behind the wall and Marc ran between Amanda and Ignacio.

Ignacio thrust his machete and pierced Marc, who shouted for Amanda and Bling to run. Marc shielded himself with his arms but Ignacio slashed at him again and again. Shrieking, Amanda ran around the stage crying for help. Marc pulled a long blood-red scarf out from under his clothing and collapsed, writhing and screaming in pain. Bling threw himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms, howling in fear.

As the theatre filled with the piteous screams of Marc, Bling and Amanda, the audience gasped and stared in horror.

Ignacio hacked at Marc until his agonized screams ceased and then Amanda raced to protect Bling, grabbing him by his arms and dragging him offstage.

The audience held their breaths in suspense as Ignacio held up his machete high, now colored red, and turned in Amanda's direction.

Suddenly the stage lights cut out but just before the theatre was completely dark, Ignacio stumbled over Marc, who held up a hand to steady him, saying in a loud stage whisper, "Mind your step."

Startled and relieved by the incongruity, the audience roared, laughing and hooting and clapping wildly.

Several more brief pivotal scenes from each of the teen's pasts were reenacted.

After an intermission Marc came on stage to announce that the second part of the performance would dramatize the present lives of the teens, now residents of New York.

Various scenes illustrating the teen's daily life followed. In school, they were shown being ignored by their overworked teachers, shunned by their contemporaries, ridiculed by the cool kids, courted by gang members, and bullied by almost everyone else.

Outside of school, the teens were persecuted by suspicious shopkeepers, disoriented by the big city, confused by the difficult new language, and neglected by their fragmented and destitute families.

In addition to these ordeals the teens also suffered normal teenage angst: insecurity about their appearance, curiosity about their emerging sexuality, and anxiety about growing up and making friends.

Many members of the audience could be heard to weep from seeing the tormented teen's struggles to cope in their new American lives.

Marc returned to the stage to announce the third part of the play. In this part a future for each of the teens would be imagined.

A dozen bright lights turned on illuminating several paintings in an art shop. Flash, dressed in oil-paint stained t-shirt and jeans appeared on stage accompanied by a stylishly dressed Amanda and business-suited Marc.

"What have you got for us?" asked Amanda. "I'm anxious to see something new."

"I have a new work," said Flash. "You'll be the first to see it."

"I'm grateful you're bringing it here," said Amanda. "You're previous paintings sold very well."

Flash left offstage and returned with a large canvas. Amanda and Flash held up the painting towards the audience, and Marc looked at it, leaning forward and examining it intently.

The artfully composed work showed a desert landscape of parched dry riverbed and a strange exotic tree with bare branches under a deep azure sky streaked with the wisps of high cirrus clouds. Baking in the harsh sun, the dusty, thirsty soil and leafless tree's outstretched branches seemed to implore the useless clouds for water.

"This is a powerful piece," said Marc, appraising it knowledgably. "It evokes a vibrant energy. It will resonate with anyone aching with longing, which, in other words, means nearly everyone. This work is executed with an even better technique than before. It's a masterpiece!"

Constable Parker, sitting in the middle of the audience, nudged the councilman sitting beside him, "I've seen a larger version of that painting on a building beside Regal Park."

"Really?" said the councilman skeptically. "No way!"

"Graffiti!" spat Constable Parker.

"You're kidding me," said the councilman.

"He's as good as admitting he did it," said Constable Parker. "I should've hauled that kid in when I had the chance!"

"So what if he did it?" said the councilman. "You're lucky to have art in _that_ neighborhood."

"Oh," said Constable Parker. "Well, yes, I guess it _is_ art. Actually it's a very nice mural."

"It must feel good," said the councilman, "to see something positive in Regal Park for once."

"And, you know, I helped keep him out of the system," boasted Constable Parker. "I gave him a second chance."

"That's it," said the councilman. "That's how you build a better community!"

This was followed by other brief depictions of the teens imagined futures.

The last segment of the performance began with Pauline perched on top of a three-tiered podium, wearing a runner's uniform with an American flag on it, with Marc and Amanda posed on each side of her, with Chinese and Russian flags, in the second and third place. Ignacio reached up to give Pauline a bouquet and put a gold medal around her neck, congratulating her for representing America so well, announcing that her race time was a new world record.

Beaming with euphoria, Pauline extended her arms skyward, and cried, "Thank you America!" and vigorously hugged Marc and Amanda.

All the other teens came on the stage, cheering at Pauline's exuberant display of sporting camaraderie, heartfelt gratitude, and unabashed patriotism, and they chanted "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!"

Soon everyone in the audience began chanting and Pauline stood proudly on the podium, smiling and waving her bouquet and hand to the crowd.

When everyone was chanting the teens lined up on stage and took their bows, and were joined by Marc, Amanda and Ignacio. The audience exploded with thunderous applause, whistles, and shouts of bravo, filling the theatre with a deafening noise.

Daniel leapt up onto the stage holding an enormous bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and beckoned for Betty, hiding behind the curtains, dazed and relieved the performance was over, to come out on stage.

Daniel took the microphone from Marc in preparation to present the bouquet and waved at Betty. But, shaking her head at him, Betty refused to go onstage.

Flash saw Daniel urging Betty to come out and he went behind the curtain to bring her onto the stage.

"The writer and director of the show!" announced Daniel proudly, fighting to be heard over the noise from the audience, "Betty Suarez!"

"Betty Suarez!" shouted Daniel again, as Betty and Flash continued to argue offstage.

Finally, Flash took Betty's arm and dragged her into the bright lights.

The entire audience leapt to their feet in a standing ovation, clapping and cheering when Betty started to emerge but as soon she did, they quieted down and the clapping was replaced with gasps and the buzz of whispers.

Blinking in the light's glare, Betty stood shyly before the audience, looking scarcely older than the teens and dressed in a worn outdated dress, flanked by the much taller Daniel and bigger Flash, her long brown hair pulled over her cheeks but not obscuring the bruises and scratches visible on her face, her broken glasses held together with duct tape, and reddened dripping nose. Betty held a handkerchief in her bandaged hand.

"They want to hear from you," said Daniel, responding to the hushed audience. He gave the microphone to Betty.

"Thank you," said Betty hoarsely. "Thank you so much for coming tonight. Please help save this worthwhile program. These kids really need your help. I'll be in the lobby afterwards to accept your donations. Please give generously."

The audience buzzed with whispers as everyone asked their seatmates if they knew why Betty looked so awful.

"They want to know what happened to you," whispered Daniel to Betty.

"It doesn't matter," whispered Betty back.

"Go on," said Daniel. "Explain."

"No, you're the one who made me come out," whispered Betty. "I didn't want to. The charity is more important than me. The kid's problems are much bigger than mine."

Daniel took the microphone back from Betty.

"I'm extremely proud of Betty," said Daniel, presenting her the bouquet, "despite coming down with a severe cold, enduring migraine headaches, and braving a terrifying mugging attack, she carried on, dedicating herself to these kids, and this program, demonstrating tremendous skill and a true generosity of spirit."

"It's only a slight cold, cat-scratch fever, and a mugging _attempt_," clarified Betty, taking the bouquet from Daniel. "The teens are the heroes, not me."

The audience was intrigued by Daniel's explanation of Betty's odd appearance, awed that she has written and directed such a touching play, charmed by her modesty, and astounded by her total commitment to the charity.

Daniel hugged Betty and all the cast members circled around congratulating her, thanking her, and hugging her.

"Betty Suarez, everyone!" shouted Daniel.

The audience began another thunderous round of applause, stomping their feet, refusing to quiet down until Daniel held up the microphone again.

"Sit, please," shouted Daniel, waiting for the applause to stop. "There's more to come this evening."

The audience quieted down and sat.

"Carlos Delgado is in the house!" shouted Daniel, jumping and pumping his fist into the air.

Kids screamed with excitement and everyone craned their necks looking for Carlos.

"Carlos and some of his teammates from the New York Mets are here and are going to be auctioning baseball memorabilia and other items, proceeds to the Regal Park refugee teens at Risk program, and signing autographs in the lobby!"

The audience members stared in amazement at their neighbors.

Betty and the cast left the stage to collect donations in the lobby.

"Right now!" said Daniel and the audience leapt to their feet and stormed out after them.

* * *

Hello peeps! My ever faithful readers! As promised I bring you a Spinning Yarn blog update directly from inside the lobby of the theatre, where the audience, cast and crew are mingling and partaking in a huge reception and an auction as big as ebay. This is so much fun! I, myself, snagged some unbelievably good stuff but now I am even broker than ever, lol, is broker a word? I have to say it is well worth pillaging my meagre savings and going that much deeper in debt to my parents for such an absolutely super cause. You heard it here first! You will be able to check out the awesome performance for yourselves because it's going to be up on youtube in a day or two.

OMG, keen eyed as ever, I've spotted that same old lumberjack, pretty hard to do since Betty is literally, LITERALLY (*correct usage*) being mobbed, emptying his pockets into Betty's bucket! I guess that means his little squirrel compadres will have to forage for themselves! And, I might add, why not deny those pesky, bushy-tailed, obese rodents those calorie-laden peanuts and force them to go out and get some old-fashioned exercise?

Gotta go peeps, I have to throw myself at Carlos Delgado and his teammates. I hope I stick like piece of cooked pasta! Wish me luck!!!!

PS. Watch the video and please give generously to this wonderful cause.

* * *

Clutching a handful of blackened soggy tissues, Suzuki sat in the make-up artist's chair while she washed the mascara stains from his face, again.

"I'm blubbering like a baby," said Suzuki to the artist, chagrined. "I can't help it. That part about the bullying … it was so … God help me … so …"

Suzuki breathed slowly, trying to recover, deeply affected by the performance. His face, devoid of make up, revealed his vulnerability.

"I felt as if Betty had peered right through the walls I've constructed in my psyche, into the deepest, darkest recesses I've fought so hard to hide, seeing all the horrible scars I try to pretend don't exist. People can be _so_ cruel."

The make-up artist finished applying the mascara and patting fresh powder onto Suzuki's face and he stood up to face the camera man.

"Sorry about that pal, just give me one more take, what's one more after the dozen or so we've already tried. My reputation is in peril, I have to pull this off."

Suzuki held up the microphone confidently and smiled directly at the camera, calmly holding his smile, waiting for the camera man's signal to begin.

"Here I am, Suzuki St. Pierre, your discriminating and perceptive correspondent on anything and everything fashionable, in the theatre lobby after a stunning performance by Mode's charity team. In a moment I will interview Wilhelmina Slater and we'll speculate on how well tonight's performance stacks up against the stiff competition from Elle. But first I'll recap for you the amazing and touching performance given tonight by this accomplished, yet amateur, troop of young performers."

"The performance opened with a moving scene illustrating the desperate plight of exploited third-world children forced to work in sweat shops to satisfy the world's insatiable demand for cheap goods. Under a bare light bulb a young girl, longing for freedom and an education, sits at a sewing machine …"

Overcome by the injustice of Pauline's story, Suzuki, blinking back tears, drew a finger across his neck to tell the camera man to stop filming. He burst into tears and threw himself into the make-up artist's chair, burying his face into her towel.

Immediately, Wilhelmina stepped out from behind the camera man, strode up to Suzuki and caustically berated him for failing to control his emotions yet again, calling him a worthless sniveling pansy, and demanding he grow balls and pull himself together so he could feed her enormous ego with the adulatory publicity she deserved.

* * *

Meanwhile, inside Betty's purse, her cell phone, set to vibrate, buzzed for the umpteenth unanswered time that evening.

"Betty," said Gio to her voice mail, "I'm in the hotel's wine cellar, who knew it'd have such great cell phone reception! I've snuck in here so many times tonight they're going to think I have a drinking problem. I know you said not to call but I just have to know how things are going. Call me as soon as it turns midnight. God, I can't wait for this shift to end! B, why did you let me do this? I wish I was there. I'm so sorry I'm not there with you. Call me!"


	17. Waltzing with Water Bottles

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 17 Waltzing with Water Bottles

Two days after the performance Betty sat down at her desk at Mode and caught up on the backlog of emails that she had been neglecting. While she was reading an email a new one arrived from Sondra and Betty opened it eagerly.

"Hi Betty,

Congratulations! How are you? Getting some well-deserved rest I hope.

"You should be very proud of yourself. Everyone here was so pleased to hear from Carlos about your performance and the auction. Carlos sounded so excited. The performance was wonderful, we've all watched it on YouTube many times, don't forget to thank Justin, he did a fabulous job on the video.

"Even before my parents finished watching it they were reaching for some tissues and their wallets. I can see from the hit counter that the video is hugely popular so I hope it is earning you a ton of donations for the charity. And how did you get Amanda to act so silly? Her antics were hilarious. We were all killing ourselves!

"You'll be happy to hear I will be able to attend the gala. I've arranged a schedule for Carmen so I can slip away for a couple of days. I'll arrive and come straight to gala so you can give me my keys back there. I've got some exciting news of my own, but I'll leave that until I see you.

"Maybe you don't know, but on my first day of work Wilhelmina convinced me to take you on as my assistant. She asked me to take you under my wing, so to speak."

Betty paused to think about this statement. Wilhelmina forced Sondra to take her on? This was the opposite of what Betty recalled Wilhelmina saying.

"I am very sorry to admit this but I had my doubts. Not for long! And even so, I was shocked to hear when she put you in charge of the charity project overlooking the more qualified candidate I found for her. Obviously, she must have had tremendous faith in you and gave you a break."

Betty paused to reflect. Wilhelmina had told her there wasn't anyone other than her available to do the charity project. And if Wilhelmina wanted to win, as she assumed she did, then why would she pick her over a more qualified candidate? It is unlike Wilhelmina to give anyone, least of all her, a break. Betty thought she had fought to take control of the project, but was the fight too easy?

"And again, you exceeded my expectations. I guess Wilhelmina saw all your hidden capability! She is an astute judge of character."

Wilhelmina is astute, thought Betty, and clever and devious.

"Let me just say again, Betty, you really did a super job on it.

"And thank you so much for caring so well for my lovely little pets. The pictures you sent remind me how much I miss them. I can't wait to get see them!

"I'm sorry to hear about your cold and that you caught cat-scratch fever. I didn't know you didn't have previous exposure to cats. So, it makes me think, do you have a cold or allergies? Cat allergies are pretty common and symptoms are nearly the same."

Allergies! thought Betty. She had never thought of allergies. She'd been coughing and sniffling since the morning after she moved into Sondra's apartment. That was exactly when it had started.

"There are some over-the-counter anti-histamine pills in my cupboard. Try taking one a day for a few days and see if it clears up! See you at the gala, Sondra."

Betty pondered the knowledge that Wilhelmina had forced Sondra to take her on as an assistant, despite telling her the opposite. And why did Wilhelmina say no one else was available to take on the charity project if it wasn't true? If there were more qualified candidates why would she choose her?

Marc walked by Betty's desk and collapsed into the chair opposite her, rubbing his eyes.

"I can't believe you're working," said Marc. "I'm so tired. Nice glasses!"

"Thank you," said Betty, smiling. "I kind of like them myself."

"Why would you pick them if you didn't?"

"I can't see them when I picking them out," said Betty. "I have to trust the saleslady."

"I think she did a good job, you look great. Thankfully, your bruises and scratches are clearing up. What are you doing?"

"Catching up," said Betty. "I have a ton of emails."

"But Wilhelmina is giving you time off," said Marc, "until the gala. Why don't you rest your cold?"

"I don't have a cold," said Betty. "I've got allergies!"

"To what?"

"Cats!" said Betty. "Now, I want to get back to this bunch of emails."

"But you worked so hard on the performance," said Marc, stifling a yawn. "You really deserve a break."

"Yeah," said Betty. "I loved it, but I'm kind of glad it's over."

"Over?" said Marc. "It isn't over until the fat lady sings."

"Huh?" said Betty.

"The gala," said Marc. "That's when we find out how it all ends."

"Oh," said Betty. "I don't care if we win or not. We helped the teens and the charity and that is its own reward."

"Well, that too, of course," said Marc.

"What else is there?" asked Betty.

"Nothing," said Marc, jumping up. "I better let you get back to those emails."

Betty thought about Marc, dropping by her desk and asking her what she was doing. That was strange. And suggesting she should go home. That was very strange. He had been so helpful with the project, in fact uncharacteristically hard working, glued to her side every moment. Was he keeping a little too close to her? What did Marc mean about 'it' not being over until the gala? It did not add up.

Alarmed, Betty picked up the phone and dialed Daniel.

"Hi Daniel," said Betty. "I have to talk to you about Wilhelmina. Something strange is going on."

"Hi," said Daniel. "I can't really talk right now. I am swamped with the charity report. I've got a lot to do and not enough time. The youtube donations are a miracle."

"Can I help?" asked Betty.

"No, I just have to concentrate and get it done," said Daniel.

"Daniel, I'm calling because I've got a bad feeling about it," said Betty.

"What do you mean? It is terrific!" said Daniel. "We've got some fantastic numbers! It's a huge success."

"No. It's Wilhelmina," said Betty. "I think she's up to something."

"She doesn't have anything to do with this part."

"You have to be careful Daniel," said Betty. "She's dangerous."

"Don't worry Betty," said Daniel. "She's already done her worst, taking my job, demoting me."

"No, Daniel! You have _no idea_ what she's capable of!"

"I'll have the report ship-shape by the deadline. I assure you, the charity project is perfect in every way. The judges will love it."

"Are you sure you don't need help?" said Betty. "I have time now."

"No, I'm fine. Your part was brilliant and you deserve a rest. I assure you the report will be brilliant too."

"While I've got you on the phone," said Betty. "I still need to talk to you."

"Sorry we couldn't get together the other day," said Daniel. "It was a baby emergency."

"No problem, I understand that," said Betty. "When's the next time we can meet?"

"Now. I'll drop everything for you," said Daniel. "Just come by my desk."

"No, you have to focus," said Betty. "And this is personal. When will you be finished with the report?"

"I drop it off the afternoon of the gala," said Daniel. "How about I come find you after that?"

"Okay, good," said Betty. "See you then."

* * *

The afternoon of the gala Betty was sitting at her desk, happily daydreaming of the elegant gorgeous gown that Susie was lending her. Now that the pressure from the charity performance had worn off she was completely absorbed by looking forward to the exciting evening. The delightful festive event would take place in a huge glitzy hotel ballroom and included a sumptuous banquet, the awards ceremony, and dancing.

Not only was she looking forward to spending time with Sondra, who would be back from Puerto Rico finally, and Christina, Daniel, Renee, and her other work friends, but a lot of famous, rich and chic celebrities would be there too. And she had talked Gio into leaving work early so he could attend the event. Betty was thrilled to have the all-to-rare opportunity to dance with Gio. The fact that it was a fancy formal affair and she would be wearing a beautiful gown and Gio would wear his best suit made the anticipation of it all that much more divine.

Just after three o'clock, Daniel dropped by Betty's desk, walking jauntily.

"Hi, Betty," said Daniel. "I'm done! I just dropped off the financial report. Working on this project was the best career move I ever made. The judges are the most esteemed and qualified financial people in the whole city. It's big stuff, a feather in my cap! I'm positive this report is the finest thing I've ever put my name on."

"Wow," said Betty. "That is wonderful."

"Yes, it is," said Daniel. "Wilhelmina will be putting it with the rest of the materials and submitting it within the hour. Then in a just few short hours they'll announce the final verdict."

"I know," said Betty. "Who will win? We know so little about Elle's submission."

"In any case, we've done a great job helping the charity! Are you ready to talk? Do you want to go get coffee?"

"Yes. That'd be great," said Betty. "I need to talk to you about Gio."

"Gio?" said Daniel.

"Yes, there's something I wanted to ask you about," said Betty, pausing to think.

"Fire away," said Daniel. "You can ask me anything."

"Wait a minute," said Betty. "You said you gave the report to Wilhelmina?"

"Yes," said Daniel. "Why?"

"Is it a paper document?"

"No," said Daniel. "It's a memory stick."

"Write protected?" asked Betty.

"No," said Daniel. "It's just the normal kind."

"Daniel!" cried Betty. "That's it!"

"What?"

"She's going to mess up your report," said Betty. "That's her plan!"

"She has a plan?"

"There's something going on," said Betty. "I know it."

"But why?"

"To sabotage you," said Betty. "You know she's trying to ruin your career. And this would be the perfect way to do it. She'll make you look like a fool in front of the judges. Where is it now?"

"I just saw her in her office a few minutes ago," said Daniel. "That's where I gave her the report."

"We have to stop her from changing your report and then submitting it!" Betty jumped up from her desk and hurried to the elevators, shouting to Daniel, "Come on!"

"She will open the spreadsheets and scramble the numbers," explained Betty, pounding the elevator button. "She'll do it to make you look incompetent!"

"Why?" asked Daniel. "Doesn't she want to have a good report so we'll win?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense," said Betty, jumping out of the elevator when the reached Daniel's floor, "but that just means I haven't figured out the whole plan. We have to go to your desk and get a fresh copy of the report. Hurry!"

"Get a fresh copy?" said Daniel. "How is that going to help?"

"We have to switch them. If she didn't touch your report," said Betty, running down the corridor with Daniel chasing after her, "it's nothing. Both will be the same. But if she does … they'll get the right version."

"Oh, I see," said Daniel, grabbing his chair and sitting down at his workstation, "either way it works."

Daniel copied the report onto a fresh memory stick and they raced to Wilhelmina's office.

"Marc," said Betty, panting and red-faced. "Where's Wilhelmina?"

"She left half an hour ago for the hotel," said Marc. "She's delivering the charity submission herself."

"When is it due?" asked Betty.

"At four o'clock," said Marc.

"We have to stop her," said Betty. "We have to catch her before she hands it in."

"What is going on?" said Marc.

"The financial report," said Betty. "We have to …"

"What?" asked Marc.

"Uh, Daniel has a better copy of it," said Betty. "We want to replace the one Wilhelmina has before she gives it to the judges."

"You better hurry," said Marc. "It's already after three and it's at least thirty minutes to the hotel from here, even when it's not rush hour."

"Come on," said Betty grabbing Daniel's hand and dragging him to the elevators.

When they reached the street, Daniel flagged down a taxi and they hopped in. A series of red lights and traffic jams slowed the taxi down to a crawl while Betty fidgeted, tapping her finger on her chin.

"At this rate we won't make it in time, but it's probably nothing," said Daniel soothingly. "It's just a weird hunch you have."

"No. No, we have to get there!" said Betty. "Do something! Who can we call?"

"Wilhelmina?" said Daniel. "Tell her to wait?"

"No!" said Betty, biting her knuckle. "That'll just tip her off. Think of something!"

Daniel spoke to the taxi driver, "If you can get us there before four I'll give you twenty dollars for every spare minute."

The taxi driver jerked the wheel and turned into a one-way lane, even though it was the wrong way. He sped around garbage bins, parked cars, and traffic, zigzagging through a maze of narrow lanes across midtown. They arrived at the hotel a few minutes before the deadline.

While Daniel handed the driver a fistful of bills, Betty jumped out of the taxi and ran to the front desk.

"Where is the charity judge's room?" asked Betty.

"I can't tell you that," said the man at the desk. "That's confidential. The submissions go to the Orchid room, third floor, up the escalator. But I think it's closed."

"We missed it, Betty," said Daniel, catching up with her. "It's no use."

"Daniel, don't give up," said Betty. "Your career is on the line! Run!"

Betty ran, followed closely by Daniel, up the escalator, weaving and climbing two steps at a time, pushing past the other people, quickly reaching the third floor.

"Which way?" cried Betty, jerking her head left and right, too distraught to look for a sign.

"Here!" said Daniel, spotting the Orchid Room and running for the door.

Just as Daniel reached the door it opened and Wilhelmina came out. A woman stood behind her with one hand on the doorknob and the other holding a set of keys.

"What are you doing here?" said Wilhelmina, pursing her lips when a disheveled and flushed Betty and flustered Daniel tried to push past her.

"Daniel brought a better version of the financial report," said Betty. "We have to replace the one you handed in."

"Uh, oh, it's already submitted," said Wilhelmina with a look of regret, trying to block their way to the door. "It's too late, it's already done."

"We have to go in," cried Betty, shoving Wilhelmina aside and jamming her foot in the doorway, preventing the woman from closing it.

"Excuse me," said the woman to Betty, looking at her foot. "I'm locking up."

"It's not the deadline yet," begged Betty.

"I know it's not for a few minutes, but I've already got all the submissions," said the woman.

"This will only take a second!" cried Betty.

"Very well," said the woman, putting the keys in her pocket and opening the door. "What is it?"

"Where is the submission for Mode?" said Betty. "We just have to replace something in it."

"It's already been taken to the judge's room," said the woman.

Wilhelmina shrugged, and said, "See, it's too late."

"Sorry, I can't do anything about it," said the woman.

"Please," begged Betty. "It's really important."

"Well, I could ask the chief judge."

"I'm sure he won't allow it," said Wilhelmina.

"It isn't a he," said the woman, "it's a she."

"What?" cried Wilhelmina, flabbergasted. "But the chief judge is-"

Wilhelmina crossed her arms and pursed her lips, "He's not a man? Who is the chief judge?"

"The judge's identities are confidential," said the woman, looking at Wilhelmina suspiciously, "to eliminate biases. I'll go check with her. I'll be back in a minute."

Betty, Daniel and Wilhelmina stood and waited, uncomfortable and distracted, trying to make small talk.

"She told me to take it to her," said the woman when she returned, and she handed an envelope to Daniel. "Just seal it in here and I'll write a note and the time on it."

"Can we get the other one back?" said Betty.

"No!" said Wilhelmina sharply. Betty looked at Wilhelmina, noticing she was very perturbed, and she nudged Daniel's elbow so he'd notice it too.

"I'll ask," said the woman, taking the envelope from Daniel.

A minute later she returned. "It looks like she stepped out. I left the envelope on top. It's up to her to decide whether she'll accept it. Now that the deadline has passed, I'll have to ask you to leave."

Forcing a friendly smile, Wilhelmina turned to Betty and Daniel. "Thank you for your hard work on this project. I'll see you at the banquet later."

Wilhelmina ran down the hallway pulling a cell phone out of her purse, while Daniel and Betty looked at her in surprise. After she'd left they found a quiet corner of the lobby to sit down to talk.

"Thank you, Betty. You were right," said Daniel. "Wilhelmina was definitely up to something. Let's hope the judge accepts my copy of the report."

"You're welcome," said Betty. "But don't ever trust her again, okay?"

"You bet," said Daniel, dropping comfortably onto an overstuffed sofa and patting the spot beside him. "Now, Betty, what was it that you wanted to ask me about?"

"You're good friends with Gio," said Betty, sitting down beside Daniel, "right?"

"Sure, I am. We talk almost every day. We lunch together whenever we can."

"You consider your friendship very close?"

"Of course! So close that Gio asked me to be his best man at your wedding."

"Then tell me," said Betty, "do you know why did he decided to take a second job?"

"Uh, oh," said Daniel, startled. He stared at Betty, swallowing, "No. I don't know anything about his money problems."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Wilhelmina, dressed in an elaborately draped shimmering gold silk ball gown designed by Susie, stood on the red carpet greeting the guests and celebrities entering the hotel for the gala.

"Marc," said Wilhelmina, pulling him aside when he arrived. "What took you so long?"

"Had to get dolled up," said Marc, turning to show off his stylish suit and slicked hair. "Everyone will be here, the cameras, the paparazzi! I don't want to disappoint my fans!"

"Forget about that," said Wilhelmina crossly. "I needed you! Have you found out anything new about the judges?"

"No," said Marc. "My source is tight-lipped. Perhaps there was some confusion and everything is the same as it was? Where is Mandy?"

"Over there with Betty. I've been calling Monsieur Barnard all day and he hasn't picked up or returned any of my calls!"

"I'm sure he's been quite busy today," said Marc. "It probably doesn't mean anything. Want do you want? Come on, I want to join Mandy and Betty."

"Betty?"

"It surprises me too," said Marc. "But things change. She's actually very nice."

"Marc, something is definitely wrong! Monsieur Barnard and I were in constant contact up to this morning," said Wilhelmina. "This is sudden."

"Oh," said Marc. "Well, what's going to happen if Monsieur is not the chief judge?"

"My whole plan is in peril," cried Wilhelmina, cursing. "All the time I've spent gaining his cooperation, all the favors I've done. It better not be time wasted!"

"Favors?" said Marc.

"You don't want to know," said Wilhelmina, glowering. "Suffice it to say, he is in big trouble if he doesn't call me soon."

"What is the plan?" asked Marc. "You never tell me anything!"

"You don't want to know that either," said Wilhelmina, rubbing her forehead thoughtfully. "How am I going to fix this?"

"I don't see how I can help if you don't tell me what it is. I never understood why you put Betty in charge of the project."

"Because she is the only person at Mode that would have allowed Daniel to write the report without ever bothering to check it. When you couldn't do it, she was my only other option. She was ideal. That is, up to the last five minutes! I underestimated her again."

"So, it's all about Daniel's report then?"

"Well, it sure as hell isn't about helping a bunch of charity cases! A bunch of whining, low-class refugee urchins, with no taste whatsoever. What could be more disgusting than them?"

"They grow on you," said Marc. "What about Daniel's report? How does that work?"

"I've said too much already. Marc, I need you to go into the judge's room and remove an envelope from Mode's submission."

"How am I going to do that when everyone is in there?"

"You'll be invisible," said Wilhelmina.

"How?" said Marc, gesturing at himself. "I don't do invisible."

"It'll be easy."

"If it is so easy, why don't you do it?"

"Obviously I cannot do it," said Wilhelmina. "But if _you_ dress up as a waiter, no one will look at you twice. You simply waltz in with some water bottles, casually rummage around until you find the envelope, slip it into your pocket, and leave. That's it."

"No," said Marc, standing up straight and crossing his arms. "I will not do it."

"What?" said Wilhelmina, shocked and staring at Marc with a piecing gaze. "You would defy a direct order?"

"Yes. I won't do it. It's not part of my job."

"I can't believe that you, _you_, a weak vain buffoon, would dare stand up to me!"

"Wilhelmina," said Marc firmly, looking her straight in the eye. "I will not do your dirty work anymore."

"God damn it," said Wilhelmina. "Without Monsieur Barnard, I don't have anyone on the inside. How can you refuse to help me?"

"I can, and I do," said Marc. "I don't know _anything_ about it, remember?"

"It was such a good plan," said Wilhelmina, "One perfect plan to simultaneously humiliate Daniel and win the contest! It was such an incredibly daring feat of cunning that no one could possibly anticipate it. Hells bells, has all my scheming gone to ruin?"

"I feel for you," said Marc. "Now what?"

"I might salvage part of the plan," said Wilhelmina. "I'm forced to wait and get Daniel another time, but since Betty pulled off a surprisingly outstanding performance, if by some miracle Daniel hasn't bungled the financial report, we still have a chance of winning the contest even without the chief judge in our pocket."

"You really believe in us," said Marc dryly.

"I can't believe I just said that. Will wonders never cease?" said Wilhelmina, surprised to find herself saying Mode's project could win on its own merit.

"So, that's what you think?" said Marc. "You think there's only the slightest chance we're not losers."

"It's a compliment of the highest order," said Wilhelmina archly.

"I know," said Marc. "That's my point."

"A compliment from my heart," said Wilhelmina, placing her hand on her bosom.

"There's no need to go overboard," said Marc.

Just then Naomi Campbell, Wilhelmina's fiercest baseball game rival, arrived on the red carpet in a sparkling silver sequined gown, surrounded by several admirers, causing a noisy commotion from the photographers and other bystanders.

"Hello, Naomi," said Wilhelmina coolly, when she passed in front of her.

"Hello, Wilhelmina," said Naomi, stopping to admire Wilhelmina's golden gown.

"Who are you wearing?" asked Wilhelmina.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," said Naomi. "Valentino, you?"

"Susie," said Wilhelmina. "My protégé."

"Nice," said Naomi, circling around Wilhelmina, studying the shining gown's folds and pleats from every angle. "Exquisitely executed Grecian touches, with superb attention to the details. This gown makes _even you_ look like an angel. I'd like to meet this Susie of yours."

"She's taken," said Wilhelmina.

"Hmmm," said Naomi, tilting her head. "That's all you have to say?"

"That's all you'll hear from me."

"Perhaps you are not aware that I'm the chief judge of this competition."

"Really?" Wilhelmina grimaced. "Since when? I thought it was Monsieur Barnard."

Wilhelmina looked at Marc and he shrugged.

"Oh, you didn't hear," said Naomi. "He fled the country this morning."

"What? Why?"

"He found out he was about to be charged," chuckled Naomi, "I think for indecent conduct … or tax evasion … or drug possession, or maybe all three. I forget the details."

"Unbelievable! They'd charge him for _that_?"

"I know! It's nothing any of us wouldn't have done."

"How unfortunate for him," said Wilhelmina, without a trace of sympathy.

"Not so bad," said Naomi. "He's removed himself to Paris."

Wilhelmina imagined dumping her thick file on Monsieur Barnard into the trash and pulling out her file on Naomi Campbell. It was a skinny file. She imagined leafing through the scant pages. There was nothing in Naomi's file that she could use for this occasion.

"I'm interested in Susie," said Naomi. "I want her."

No, not Susie, thought Wilhelmina, considering the implications. What would happen to the Slater line without Susie? It would be irreparably damaged. But there was no time to come with other options.

"Marc," said Wilhelmina, waving her hand. "Send Susie and you can go."

"Why the hell are _you_ judging a charity contest?" whispered Wilhelmina as soon as Marc had left. "I didn't have you pegged as a bleeding heart do-gooder."

"Hah! Not on your life," shrugged Naomi. "But it counts as community service hours. At least this job comes with some perks."

"Humpf," said Wilhelmina with grudging admiration. "You do know how to land on your feet."

"Thank you," said Naomi. "Keep it up and I may even give Mode's contest submission a certain level of consideration."

"My dearest friend," simpered Wilhelmina, clasping Naomi's hand. "I have a huge respect for your remarkably objective and refined opinions."

"Friends," said Naomi, "share their possessions. I will make Susie a star."

Smiling sweetly, Wilhelmina swallowed, "And naturally, I will lend you Susie for as long as you wish."


	18. Whisky Burns

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 18 Whisky Burns

"Hello, Betty," said Gio as he approached the banquet table sharply dressed in the maroon dress shirt, stylish suit and shoes that Daniel had picked out for him. The dark circles under his eyes, from too little sleep, were hidden by a wide grin.

Wearing an opulent tight-fitting velvet gown borrowed from Susie, Betty was seated between Christina and Daniel. Daniel immediately jumped up to make way for Gio to sit beside Betty.

"There you are finally," said Betty, turning her face when Gio leaned down to greet her so he kissed her cheek, rather than her lips.

Gio apologized to Betty for being late, praised her beautiful dress, and smiled at everyone else. "So, how's it going? Has the winner been announced yet?"

"No!" said Betty, gripping her napkin tightly, crushing it in her hand. "Any minute now. Daniel just got back from the judges' room. They grilled him about the financial report."

"Good, then I'm here in time," said Gio, plucking a plump black olive off the top of Betty's neglected salad.

"Do you want this Kalamata?" asked Gio.

"No," said Betty.

Gio popped the olive into his mouth.

"You didn't have to wait for me," said Gio, gesturing at her untouched plate of food.

"I didn't wait," said Betty. "I'm not hungry."

"Let's get a drink," said Daniel to Gio. "The bar is over there. Come on."

"No," said Betty emphatically to Daniel, touching a finger to her lips in warning. "Don't go. Sit down."

Daniel obediently sat down across the table from Betty, beside Renee.

"Do you want anything from the bar?" asked Gio to Betty.

"No," said Betty.

"Anyone else?" said Gio to the others, already flushed and merry from the free-running wine and liquor.

Hearing no requests, Gio left and returned carrying two tumblers of whisky, triples at least, setting them on the table between Betty's plate and his.

"I told you I didn't want anything," said Betty.

"I know," said Gio, sitting down. "Both are for me, I can tell I have a lot of catching up to do." Gio picked up a glass and held it up, "Cheers everyone!"

Christina held up her glass and said in a drunken drawl, "I'll drink to that! It's been a very long dry spell. Thank god I'm not pregnant!"

Marc and Amanda chanted, for the umpteenth time, "Thank god she's not pregnant!" And they clinked their glasses and drank deeply.

Bemused, Gio downed his drink in one gulp, grimacing as the strong liquor burned his throat, making everyone laugh raucously. Except Betty.

"Why are you so late?" said Betty.

"That's a good story," said Gio, setting down the empty glass and sipping on his second drink.

Gio waited for everyone to quiet down, "The head chef was so mad at me for running out of the kitchen the day Betty was mugged, I mean almost mugged, that he sent me to work in the front of house."

"'Get out of my kitchen!'" said Gio, hilariously imitating his irate boss's exotic accent and angry face and gestures when banishing him from his domain, "'Go work for the maitre d' until I can tolerate the sight of your ugly face!'"

"But that was before," said Betty, annoyed by seeing the others laughing and enjoying Gio's unseemly story. "Why are you late tonight?"

"Tonight I was working for the sommelier," explained Gio. "I was delivering wine to tables and uncorking it. There was a large party of wealthy socialites dining and I knew a sizable tip was in the offing. I couldn't leave then."

"Flirting, no doubt," said Betty.

"That _is_ how it's done," replied Gio, smirking. "You hold the bottle of champagne just so, like this, see, presenting it to the lady, and then you give her a sultry gaze while you powerfully ease the cork out," said Gio, flexing his biceps, "… making sure it pops out with a bang and some foam drizzles down the neck. The old matrons love it, the older the better, and when you hear their oohs and aahs, as you very carefully brush close to each one while pouring out their bubbly, you know it means _big_ money!"

Daniel and the others at the table laughed heartily while Betty frowned and rolled her eyes at the disgraceful story.

"Some of them are probably here," said Gio, glancing around, "since they love being the generous benefactors of the arts and fashionable charities, even more than to their charming waiters."

"Thank you for that interesting lesson, Gio," said Betty. "Can't we talk about something else?"

"Let's dance," said Gio, deciding to skip his dinner, standing up and holding out his hand gallantly to Betty. "Come on."

"Okay," said Betty sighing, allowing Gio to lead her to the crowded dance area.

"You seem nervous," said Gio. "A little exercise will help."

"I suppose," said Betty, dancing stiffly.

Sensing Betty's tenseness, Gio eased her through the maze of dancers to the far edge of the room and into a small alcove hidden behind a pair of enormous silk Ficus trees.

"What's up?" asked Gio. "Are you nervous about tonight or is something else wrong?"

"Of course there is," snapped Betty. "What am I supposed to think hearing you stayed late at work, flirting with rich old ladies, no less, when you were supposed to be here? I've been waiting for you for hours. Tonight is really important to me, but apparently, not to _you_!"

"I'm sorry, Betty," said Gio. "I'm sorry I couldn't get away earlier. They're already on my case for ducking out that other day. I didn't want to push it."

"Huh," said Betty crossly. "And my play? You missed that too!"

"We already went over that," Gio sighed. "You know I wanted to see it. Antonella loved it. Everyone loved it."

Hoping some compliments would lighten Betty's mood, Gio held her out at arm's length and admired her in Susie's dress which hugged her snugly, flattering her curves and exposing abundant cleavage, unusual for Betty.

"Betty, you look amazing! Bellissimo! Va va va voom!"

"Stop it," said Betty. "I can't believe that tonight, the night of the highest achievement in _my _career, and all you can think about are my stupid boobs!"

"No, no, no," said Gio.

Betty glared at Gio.

"Magnificent boobs," said Gio, wrapping his arms around her. He tried to kiss her but Betty pushed him away.

"Don't touch me," said Betty. "This fabric shows fingerprints! Everyone will see them."

"Oh," said Gio, letting her go. "Hey, I almost forgot, I brought you a gift, a celebration gift."

"Goody," said Betty, brightening.

Gio smiled and winked at Betty, holding his arms out sideways. "I can't touch you, but you can touch me. Search my pockets."

Betty patted Gio's torso half-heartedly, slipping her hand into a couple of his jacket pockets, "I don't have much time. Just give it to me!"

"Oh, please, you can do better than that" coaxed Gio. "I hardly even felt that. No one can see us."

Betty frisked him again lightly, "Still nothing."

"I was expecting this part would take a little longer. I have more pockets, you know," said Gio. "Come on, that check was so bad you would've missed a gun in my pants."

"You don't have a gun in your pants!" cried Betty, annoyed by the delay. "I don't even have to check to know that _that_ would not be a gun in your pants."

Gio reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like a small piece of elastic black lace, holding it on his palm in front of Betty.

"What is it?" said Betty, picking it up gingerly.

"A thong," said Gio, laughing at her horrified expression. "I thought it's about time you got one. It's sexy."

"Ew," squealed Betty, trembling with rage, "Are you insane? What's wrong with you? It's disgusting!" She threw it on the floor at Gio's feet, "_You_ disgust me!"

Surprised, Gio looked at Betty intently. It was finally dawning on him that all his playful efforts to help her to relax were having the opposite effect.

"Way to go," shrieked Betty, eyes blazing and face reddening, "for _ruining_ my special night!"

"No, Betty!" said Gio, as she whirled around and started to storm off. "Stop! I'll be serious."

Ignoring him, Betty blindly dashed into the crowd of dancers with Gio following behind her.

"Betty," pleaded Gio, touching her elbow to slow her down. "Talk to me."

Forming an island in the swirling sea of unconcerned dancers, Betty stopped and turned to face Gio.

"There _is_ something else," said Betty. "But it should wait until we can talk calmly."

"Please, Betty," said Gio. "Tell me. What's wrong?"

"I talked to Daniel," said Betty.

Gio leaned close to Betty, so he could hear her over the din of the music and the noisy commotion all around them.

"What did he say?" asked Gio.

"You, of all people," said Betty, "you _Gio_, should know that Daniel can't keep a secret."

"What?" asked Gio. "What secret?"

"He told me why you are working at the hotel kitchen."

"My five year plan," said Gio. "What other reason is there?"

"So you can pay him back for the trip to Rome!" shouted Betty, no longer caring what anyone around them could hear.

"Oh," said Gio, his shoulders slumping. "I thought I should."

"No!" said Betty. "It was _my_ trip, _my_ gift. You had no right. And that's not all."

"What else?" said Gio, the color draining from his face. It had been several days since he'd talked to Daniel and he'd been rambling. He wasn't sure what he might have said.

"He said you wanted to earn enough to support us both after we're married!"

"Oh," said Gio, a little relieved that's all it was, yet puzzled to observe Betty was so bothered by it.

"Is it true?" said Betty.

Gio looked intently at Betty's distressed face, wondering what she was thinking.

"Answer me!" demanded Betty. "Yes or no?"

"Yes," said Gio. It was the truth and there was no reason to deny it.

"See?" cried Betty, hands clenched into fists. "That _proves_ you don't care about my career! Now I know you don't respect what I do!"

"No-" said Gio.

"Tonight of all nights I find out!" screamed Betty. "I hate you!" Her eyes filling with tears, she spun around, pushing her way through the crush of dancers towards their table with Gio chasing after her.

"Betty, listen to me," called Gio, but she didn't hear him and kept running.

When Betty reached their table, Daniel rose and grabbed her arm, glancing with curiosity at Gio's distraught expression.

"Betty!" said Daniel, hustling her towards the stage, "there you are! They're calling us to go up on the stage. They're about to announce the results."

Gio watched helplessly as Daniel and Betty joined the group standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the stage.

The stage was already packed with people, the contest organizers and participants from Elle and the other magazines, and in the center of them all was an impressive silver trophy, sparkling in the spotlights, flanked by an enormous pair of exotic flower arrangements.

The emcee was interviewing Fiona Brown, organizer of the Regal Park refugee teens at risk program, in preparation for introducing Mode's representative.

Wilhelmina had her hand on the handrail and a stiletto heel on the first step to the stage when Daniel rushed to her and put his hand on her arm, pulling her back.

"Wait! This is Betty's event," said Daniel. "Let her go up."

Turning away from Gio's concerned gaze, Betty wiped the tears from her face and nervously smoothed her dress and hair. Christina, Susie, Claire, Sondra, Amanda, and Marc gathered in a circle around Wilhelmina and Daniel.

"I outrank you. Step aside!" said Wilhelmina, pushing Daniel when he blocked her path.

"What have you done to deserve it?" exclaimed Daniel, holding her back. "It's all Betty's work."

"You have no idea what I've sacrificed," replied Wilhelmina. "This is going to be _my_ moment, _my_ turn in the spotlight. Get out of my way, you dumb-ass!"

Daniel raised his fists and growled, "How dare you?"

"Calm down Daniel," said Claire. "Wilhelmina, don't do this. It's Betty's achievement. She's earned it."

"I got us to here," said Wilhelmina, "and I'm taking the credit!"

"Why won't you listen to reason?" said Claire.

"From you?" cried Wilhelmina. "From someone who married money to get where you are?"

"Hey!" said Claire. "That's uncalled for."

"No, Wilhelmina," said Sondra, stepping forward, "I don't understand why you're doing this. This isn't who I thought you were! Would you rob Betty of her reward?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Wilhelmina. "You don't get anywhere by playing nice."

"Wait," said Marc, stepping forward and putting his hand on Wilhelmina's arm. "You don't want to represent Mode."

"Et tu, Brutus?" said Wilhelmina, glaring at Marc fiercely. "Now I see who you really are. I should have been paying attention to the signs."

"No!" begged Marc. "Listen to me! I'm on your side."

"You're _useless_. You're no help to me at all. You're fired!"

"Have it your way," screamed Marc.

Wilhelmina stared at Marc, eyebrow arched.

"We," Marc shouted, pointing to his chest, then at Wilhelmina, and violently flinging his hands up into the air, "are _over_!"

Towering above everyone, Alexis broke through the crowd that had gathered around them and stood in front of the steps, an imposing pale blond Amazon in a blood-red designer gown and spike heels.

"What's going on?" asked Alexis.

"Tell Wilhelmina to step aside," said Daniel to Alexis. "Betty should represent Mode."

Alexis crossed her arms and stared coolly at Wilhelmina and Daniel until they were quiet, taking stock of the situation. "I'm the head of this company, it's my decision."

Everyone turned to watch her, awaiting Alexis's answer. Alexis glanced towards Betty.

Betty hid her red blotchy face in her hands and whimpered plaintively, "I don't care!"

"Wilhelmina will be our representative," said Alexis, halting Marc with an outstretched hand when he tried to speak. "I want Betty and Daniel to go up too, since they are the key members of our team."

"Hah!" said Wilhelmina haughtily, lifting the skirt of her golden gown so she wouldn't trip, charging up the stairs ahead of Daniel and Betty, taking her place on stage between Fiona Brown and the emcee, smiling and waving to the crowd's enthusiastic applause.

* * *

With a view of the stage, Gio, lost in thought, sat alone at the bar avoiding the others at the Mode table. Blaming himself for misreading Betty's mood, he replayed the argument over and over in his mind, realizing all his attempts to amuse her had backfired disastrously.

A handsome, tanned and fit man seated himself beside Gio.

"Gio Rossi?" he said, loosening his tie and asking the bartender for a beer.

"Yes," said Gio, looking up from the untouched drink in front of him.

"Gio, I'm Bruce Rodriguez," said Bungee, extending his hand for a shake. "I'm Sondra's date. Everyone calls me Bungee."

"Pleased to meet you, Bungee," said Gio.

"Actually, I'm her fiancé now," said Bungee, smiling happily. "I'm still getting used to it."

"Congratulations," said Gio, shaking his hand. "You're a lucky man."

"I know!" said Bungee. "And I hear you are too. Betty's a splendid girl."

"Thanks," said Gio. Gio wondered how long he'd still be Betty's fiancé after tonight's row. He hadn't seen Betty so furious since their terrible fight after the ballgame.

"Are you moving to New York City?" asked Gio.

"No, Sondra's going to pack up," said Bungee. "She's moving back to Puerto Rico in a few weeks."

"What will she do there?" asked Gio.

"She interviewed for this great little desk job quite high up in the ministry of Tourism, which is kind of ironic seeing as she's been trying to escape the country for over twenty years. But, if you want to have your honeymoon in Puerto Rico, she'll be your go-to girl."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Gio.

"And there's a very nice little apartment in Manhattan that will be available soon."

"Thanks for the tip," said Gio. "But I'm sure it's way out our price range."

"Rent controlled, so surprisingly affordable! For New York, that is."

"Betty likes it," said Gio. "But I've never been inside it, well, just barely. Banjo."

"Oh, yeah," chuckled Bungee. "I heard about that."

Gio looked down at his drink and sighed.

"You'll be happy to know that we're taking the pets with us," said Bungee. "And this is a place that will please Betty. She deserves it."

"I'd give her anything she wanted," said Gio, "if I could. No question."

"You know, after Sondra accepted my proposal, she told me why she did it. She said she thought a lot about what Betty had said to her, when she was sitting at Carmen's bedside, watching her fight to live."

"Oh?" said Gio.

"Success is getting what _you_ want in life. It has nothing to do with what anyone else thinks."

"Yeah," agreed Gio. "That sounds like Betty."

"And, you wouldn't know it," said Bungee, "but I've proposed to her many times before, without luck."

"No, I didn't know," said Gio.

"The fact that Sondra finally realized that what she wanted was me," said Bungee, "was huge. I owe Betty everything."

"Betty affects people," said Gio. "She's one of a kind."

"Gio, you would never understand the agony it was," said Bungee, "all those years, waiting for Sondra."

Bungee's lament brought to mind Gio's torment of the past year. It was never a question of whether waiting for Betty was worth it or not. Just as he wouldn't be able to command himself to love someone, he was powerless to command himself to stop. Love, at its best a miracle, at its worst cruel torture, was not the kind of thing you could expect to fit into a plan and it never would be. He simply had to accept that.

"No," said Gio, watching Betty on stage, as she hid in the shadows behind Wilhelmina and Daniel, a tear glistening on her cheek, trying to see if his ring was still on her finger. "I wouldn't understand."

* * *

Naomi Campbell, sparkling in her silver sequined gown, held the microphone and a card and open envelope in her hand. The audience hushed, waiting to hear the results of the charity fundraiser competition. All the competitors were onstage and had been introduced. The charities and the projects had been described in detail. Now, everyone was primed and eager to learn which company had earned the award for the most successful project.

"The competition was fought hard," said Naomi, "and fought well. The top entries were in a tight race and it was an arduous process, an awesome responsibility for the judges, to examine them in detail and select the best."

Naomi paused, and the audience held their breaths waiting for her to continue.

"But only one entry can win," said Naomi. "So we studied the reports, pouring over them, to carefully decide which one was the winner. And the winner is … Mode!"

The audience applauded and cheered as Wilhelmina, her golden gown glistening in the spotlights, waving and blowing kisses to the audience, came to stand beside Naomi. Betty hugged Daniel and everyone at the Mode table jumped up and down, screaming.

"Will Daniel Meade please step forward?" said Naomi, ignoring Wilhelmina.

Daniel, a surprised look on his face, let go of Betty and stepped into the spotlight beside Naomi.

"Daniel," said Naomi. "My financial experts singled out your report as the overall best one that they had ever seen. In particular, the donation of your underutilized Meade building located in the garment district, to the Regal Park Refugee Teens at Risk charity, was outstanding. The tax regulation you applied to the building's donation made it a win-win situation for both parties. A phenomenal strategy!"

The room filled with thunderous applause and Fiona Brown hugged Betty and shouted with glee, "A building! A building! A building for me! Thank you so much, Betty!"

Daniel hugged Betty and said, "Thank you, Betty, for saving my report!"

"Shhh," said Naomi, waving for everyone on stage and in the audience to quiet down.

"Betty Suarez," said Naomi. "Please come forward."

Betty held Daniel's hand and stood beside Naomi, smiling shyly, blinking in the blinding spotlights.

"Betty," said Naomi. "Our judges ruled that your performance, which pulled at our heartstrings as we experienced the teen's lives and struggles, was the strongest entry. The diverse audience, ranging from the privileged to the underprivileged, got to know them and to know the value of the charity helping them. We laughed with them and we cried with them, no one was left unmoved, an absolutely remarkable achievement."

Again the audience burst forth with uninhibited and noisy applause, cheers and shouts of "Bravo!"

"Wilhelmina," said Naomi, taking the trophy from her assistant, "I wish to present this to you, Mode's representative, as the winner of the competition!"

Wilhelmina gloated, _in your face, Elle_, as she grabbed the trophy from Naomi and lifted it high above her head, glowing with happiness, ecstatic that Susie's loss had paid off.

"And, Wilhelmina," said Naomi, "as Mode's official representative, you will now become the charity organizer for next year!"

Startled, her arms holding the trophy in the air above her, her face frozen into a wide smile, Wilhelmina jerked her head towards Naomi and hissed, "What?"

"As the representative of the winning company," explained Naomi, "you will take a year-long sabbatical from your job so you can work fulltime for the charities and organize next year's contest!"

"Oh! Of course," said Wilhelmina weakly, "of course, I wanted to do that."

Wilhelmina lowered the trophy and scanned the audience for Marc, glaring at him. He smiled at her and shrugged back.

"Let's hear our winners' reactions," said Naomi, handing the microphone to Betty.

"This is such an unexpected and great honor," said Betty, gasping for breath and shaking from nervousness, stumbling over her words. "I wish to thank all the teens and my crew for making this project a success."

The audience responded with enthusiastic applause.

"And, in addition," said Betty, tears forming and her voice quivering. "I want to acknowledge the incredible support and encouragement of my fiancé. Without him I could never have done this."

"I'm sorry," squeaked Betty, tears spilling down her cheeks. Daniel patted Betty's back as she paused to wipe her tears away.

"I'm sorry, Gio," cried Betty. She handed the microphone to Daniel and covered her face with her hands, and fell into Fiona's embrace, sobbing.

"Ladies and gentleman, I want to take this opportunity to thank my amazing team, especially Brad, my wizard of an assistant. And I wish to thank my son's ace math tutor," said Daniel, as the audience laughed, "and most of all, my girlfriend, Renee, who is not only a mathematical genius and tax expert, but also the love of my life."

"Renee, my darling," said Daniel, lowering himself onto bended knee and pulling out a ring box from his pocket, making the audience gasp in surprise, shocked to see the formerly incorrigible womanizer, Daniel Meade, make such a serious, and very public, proclamation of love, "will you marry me?"

Renee ran up the steps to the stage and threw herself into Daniel's arms, shouting "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

The audience stood up and cheered, continuing their noisy celebration for many minutes as Naomi tried to hush them. Eventually Wilhelmina held up the trophy again and gave a self-centered, self-serving and gloating speech to an inattentive audience and half-hearted applause.

* * *

Alexis, Gio and all the other Mode employees gathered at the bottom of the steps when Wilhelmina descended from the stage.

"You knew," said Wilhelmina to Alexis, gripping the trophy in her arms. "You knew I'd have to leave Mode!"

"Yes. Good riddance," said Alexis. "Keep the trophy."

Wilhelmina ran off, trophy in hand, furious at everyone, but most especially, at herself.

When Daniel, still holding Renee's hand, reached the bottom step, Alexis hugged him.

"Congratulations, Daniel," said Alexis. "On both accounts. I didn't know you had it in you! Tonight has really opened my eyes to your potential in the company."

When Betty reached the bottom step she collapsed into Gio's waiting arms, breaking into fresh sobs. Alexis let go of Daniel and turned to Betty.

"Betty, I hope you don't mind that Wilhelmina got the trophy," said Alexis. "But I preferred to let her do the honors, since she offered, so that I could keep you at Mode. You did a wonderful job on this project, you truly distinguished yourself."

"Alexis, I'm happy to stay at Mode," said Betty, clinging to Gio and wiping her eyes. "But don't forget, it was a team effort."

"Betty, you're modest," said Alexis, "and a superb team player, but you're also a leader. You know a couple of vacancies have opened up at Mode today … Sondra's position and Wilhelmina's. There will be a big shake up in the organization. I want you to know that you have your pick of positions. Take a holiday, rest up, and when you are ready to come back, you can choose whatever position suits you."

Betty beamed, too overwhelmed by the glorious moment to think of anything to say.

* * *

Almost ready to leave, after everyone had finally finished toasting and congratulating her, Betty picked up her purse and grabbed Gio's hand, leading him across the room into the alcove hidden behind the silk Ficus trees where it was private.

"We have to talk," said Betty, the ominous phrase alarming Gio.

"I'm sorry," said Gio, rushing to apologize. "I'm so sorry I upset you tonight, your special night. I'm an idiot."

He wanted to kiss her but he didn't dare try.

"Thank you," said Betty, looking at his face intently. "Tell me, why are you keeping secrets from me?"

"It was a mistake. I won't do it anymore," said Gio. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you tell Daniel you wanted to earn enough to support both of us? What is wrong with my job?"

"Nothing!" exclaimed Gio. "There's nothing wrong with your job, but I want to look after you. I don't want you to have to work. I want your life to be easy and perfect."

"You can't _do_ that," said Betty.

"I know," said Gio, his shoulders sagging. "I'm a failure."

"No!" said Betty. "I want to live my life. You can't do everything for me and I don't want you to. I want a job. And I want it to matter."

"But I want you to be able to do anything you want," said Gio, "like be a writer, go to school, or have a baby."

"Oh, Gio," said Betty, her loving gaze searching the depths in his eyes. "Gio, don't keep secrets from me, when we're married."

"When we're married," said Gio, relieved and feeling a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. "We're getting married?"

"Of course!" said Betty, nervously twisting her engagement ring around her finger. "Why would you ask me that?"

Gio took a hold of her left hand, calming her fidgeting fingers and gently pushing the ring into place. He rubbed the elegant gold and diamond ring, reassured to see it safely settled where it belonged. Head bowed, he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the ring.

"Henry," said Betty. "It's Henry."

"_Henry?_" said Gio, jerking his head up. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"You doubt me," said Betty, "because of what happened to Henry."

"No! Why?"

"Because I loved him," said Betty, "… and then I didn't. I feel so sorry for Henry. Gio, it happened to him, I feel bad about it, but it won't happen to you."

"That's not it," said Gio. "That's not it at all."

"Then what _is_ it?" said Betty.

"It's nothing," said Gio, turning. "We're good. Let's go. Let's dance!"

"There's something," said Betty, pulling him back. "I feel it. You doubt me, and if isn't because of Henry, then why?"

Gio held Betty's hands and gazed at her, pausing to think, reluctant to reveal his greatest fear to her, she who held absolute power over him.

"You can tell me," urged Betty. "Go on."

"Remember the night of the junior high dance," said Gio, "when you said you'd go out on a date with me? You wanted to, you asked me to, that night, but afterwards you wouldn't."

"But that doesn't-" said Betty.

"No, wait," interrupted Gio. "Remember when you said you'd go to Rome with me but the next day you changed your mind and wouldn't go?"

"Yes, I do," said Betty. "I remember."

"Betty, if you change your mind about marrying me and leave me at the altar, it'll kill me. I have nightmares."

"Gio," said Betty, shaking her head. "No."

"I stand there, in a tuxedo, waiting with the priest, but you don't come. That's the whole dream," whispered Gio, trembling, turning his back to Betty and covering his face, "I wait for you, ring in hand, but you never come. I wake up soaking in sweat, empty-handed, and alone."

"It won't happen," said Betty, stroking his back. "Gio, believe me! Please don't worry. We _will_ get married. Turn around."

When he didn't turn, Betty put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his back, listening to his shuddering breaths, murmuring and comforting him. "It's just a bad dream, just a bad dream, just a dream."

After a few minutes Gio wiped his face, turned and took Betty's hands, "I can't help it. I want to marry you more than anything in the world. I'll do it, any day you choose."

"Gio, it's just that you have to be honest with me."

"Always," said Gio.

"Gio, I think you're working too much," said Betty. "I think you need to cut back your hours."

"I can't! It'll take me that much longer to get the skills I need."

"And, is there any … other reason?"

"Ah," said Gio, turning scarlet. "You know."

"I'm giving you a chance to tell me yourself," said Betty.

"I need the money," choked Gio, acutely embarrassed. "I'm broke."

"So, there it is. Finally," Betty sighed. "The real reason."

"Oh," groaned Gio, rubbing his face with both hands.

Betty stroked his arm lovingly, "Come on. Was telling me really that bad?"

Gio lowered his hands from his face and sighed. "Okay, not so terrible."

"Do you still need to work so much?" asked Betty. "Keep in mind, you don't have to pay for the trip to Rome and I have a salary. A good one."

"Yes. I want to pay for a big wedding," said Gio. "I want it to be everything you've ever dreamed of: a grand cathedral, a Cinderella dress, a horse and carriage, a sumptuous feast, the works. You can invite everyone you know, and all your relatives in Mexico, including the ones so distant that you don't even know them."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"To even it up, The Rossi's go crazy about weddings."

"Don't worry about the wedding," said Betty. "If you forget about the wedding, how are you then?"

"Not too bad," said Gio. "Actually, I'd be good."

"Well, there you are. See? The important thing is that we talk about this honestly and we make our plans together. I don't care if we're as poor as church mice, as long as we can count on each other."

"Yeah," said Gio, rubbing his forehead and biting his lip. "You're right."

Betty smiled, "I was a _little_ touchy tonight. I'm sorry."

"Look, here's the real gift I got for you," said Gio, pulling a gold pen out of his pocket and handing it to her.

Betty held the pen under a light so she could read the engraving on it. "To Betty Suarez from Gio Rossi, John 1:1"

"In the beginning was the Word," said Betty, familiar with the biblical reference.

"And the Word was with God," recited Gio.

"And the Word was God," said Betty.

"Being a writer is the most amazing thing," said Gio. "More amazing than anything. You did an incredible job helping those teens."

"Come here," said Betty, wrapping her arms around Gio. "Kiss me."

"As you wish, Buttercup" said Gio, joyfully hugging her and nuzzling into her neck.

"You've seen The Princess Bride?" asked Betty, incredulously.

"Many times," said Gio, his voice low and husky. "Antonella's favorite."

Betty clasped Gio tightly, closing her eyes and melting into his strong arms. She put her lips to his ear and whispered, "Let's do it."

"What?" said Gio.

"You know what I mean."

"Betty? Is that you?"

"Yes. It's been too long, way too long."

"Now?" said Gio, taking a quick look around. "Here?"

"No," giggled Betty, reaching into her purse and pulling out a key. "Upstairs! This _is_ a hotel."

"How long have you had a room key?"

"All day," said Betty.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I would've told you before if you hadn't been such a jerk."

"Never mind that now, let's go," said Gio, grabbing Betty's hand and turning to go to the elevators.

"Wait a minute," said Betty, pulling him back. "First, I have to give this dress back to Susie, I'm only borrowing it. She fit it with pins and I need her to undo me!"

"No need for her," said Gio. "I'm fully trained in the art of dress removal."

"Huh?"

"I've got a scout's badge to prove it. Actually, several badges."

"What _kind_ of scout troop did you attend?"

"The Italians," said Gio. "We covered all the essential life skills."

"Such as?" scoffed Betty.

"Such as … mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," said Gio, cupping her face in his hands and stroking her lips with a fingertip. "An important skill, yes?"

"Yes," murmured Betty, nodding, wetting her lips with her tongue.

"… such as … always being prepared," breathed Gio into her ear, brushing the hair off her cheek with his fingertip, pushing the strands behind her ear.

"Mmm," murmured Betty, slipping her arms around Gio's waist, pressing her warm soft body against his warm firm one.

"You never know when you might be called upon," said Gio, stroking the smooth silky skin under her chin with his thumb, "to help a damsel in distress."

Betty tipped her head back, gazing at his angelic face, breathing in his cologne, mesmerized by his whispering lips, her nerves tingling in anticipation of what those beautiful sensuous lips could be doing.

"Do you need," whispered Gio, "help?"

"Yes," cried Betty. "Come on!"

Betty leapt out of the alcove, yanking Gio after her.

"We have to find Susie. I have to get out of this dress _now_."

* * *

As Gio paced from one side of the room to the other, Betty stood at the foot of the bed her arms folded over her head, Susie kneeling before her carefully removing pins from the velvet dress's side seam.

"You might as well take off your shoes and hang up your suit," said Susie.

Gio slid his jacket onto the hanger and arranged his and Betty's shoes into a neat line by the hotel room's door, then started to pace again.

"Why don't you hang up your trousers?" said Susie.

"No," said Gio, shocked by the suggestion.

"Don't mind me, I've seen everything," said Susie, putting away the pin box and starting to unzip the dress.

"The sooner you cooperate, the sooner she'll leave," said Betty, turning around so Susie could reach her other side.

Gio turned on the bedside lamp, put his wallet and keys on the table under it, unthreaded his belt and walked into the bathroom.

Susie slipped the dress off of Betty and was neatly arranging it into its box when Gio threw his trousers onto the bed from the bathroom.

Betty, stripped to her black lacy slip, picked up the trousers and hung them in the closet beside the jacket and her spare dress.

When Susie had finished packing, she gave Betty a warm hug, took the do-not-disturb sign from the desk, and pulled the door shut behind her.

As Susie slipped the sign over the knob, she heard the thump of bodies colliding, Betty's shrieks, and exuberant laughter.


	19. You Want Seconds?

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 19 You Want Seconds?

Betty's dress and Gio's suit hung neatly in the closet of their hotel room. Just inside the door their shoes were lined up side by side.

One step from the shoes in the direction of the bed, Betty's slip lay in a crumpled heap, another step were scattered stockings, another step was Gio's shirt, wadded up and still mostly buttoned, apparently slipped over his head, another step were her panties, then his black silk boxers, and the final item of clothing in the breadcrumb trail from door to bed, was her black lace bra lying just below the edge of the mattress.

The warm glow of a single lamp, burning on the bedside table, illuminated the room and its rumpled bed. Eyes closed, lying on their backs, limbs flung out as though from an explosion, their naked skin flushed and glistening with the sheen of sweat, Betty, her long brown hair spilling over the pillows, and Gio, lay beside each other, panting, spent and sated.

Lovemaking over, blood began to flow back into their brains, trickling into the speech centers.

"Whew," breathed Betty.

"Mmmm," agreed Gio, the echo of her exultant cry still ringing in his gratified ears.

"Whew," breathed Betty.

"How was that?" murmured Gio, heaving a breath.

"Good," sighed Betty.

"Good?" said Gio, grinning. "The best the _writer_ can come up with is good?"

Betty laughed.

Gio brushed away the strands of her hair tickling his cheek, turning his head and opening his eyes to gaze at Betty's profile and her voluptuous body, its abundant feminine curves calling his hands to them, if only he had the energy to move.

"Splendiferous," said Betty. "Happy?"

"Hell's yeah, I'm happy" said Gio. "Is that a word?"

"Yes, it is," said Betty.

"I challenge that word," said Gio.

"Gio, we're not playing scrabble."

"We're not?" said Gio, placing his fingertip onto her eyelid. "Then, this isn't the letter i?"

"Careful," said Betty. "You could poke someone's eye out. How do you know my eyes are closed?"

"Because mine aren't," said Gio.

Opening her eyes, Betty looked up at the ceiling. She was hot and damp with perspiration. Seeing that the lamp, on Gio's side of the bed, was on, she said, "Someone left the light on."

Gio had purposely neglected to turn off the lamp. He loved to see Betty in the throes of ecstasy. Being able to see her was one of the gazillion reasons he relished daytime sex, since at night all light was normally precluded by Betty's modesty.

"I'll get it in a minute," said Gio, rolling towards Betty, cuddling up to her.

Resting his hand on the soft mound of her belly, Gio nestled his thumb tip into the dip of her navel, thinking of Betty's womb just below his palm, the miraculous vessel which he fervently hoped someday would give life to his child. A thrill surged through him as he imagined feeling their baby kicking. He joyfully enveloped Betty in a full length bear hug.

Beads of sweat pricking her forehead, Betty muttered, "No," and pushed him away.

Dismayed, Gio gave a low gasp and pulled away, rolling onto his back and clasping his hands behind his head.

"What's the matter?" asked Betty.

"Are you okay?" said Gio. "Did that bother you?"

Gio's question made Betty recall the promise he'd made to her the first day after they'd arrived in Rome.

That hot, sunny afternoon, Gio had borrowed a cousin's car and driven her for hours into the rolling Tuscan countryside, along a narrow winding road leading through dozens of ancient hilltop towns, past lush vineyards and olive groves, to a picturesque cemetery on the outskirts of a small village.

As the sun set, Gio led her to the furthest edge of the deserted cemetery, beside a grove of squat silver-leafed olive trees, to an imposing ochre stone tomb with the name Rossi engraved above the door, and knelt in front of it. With bowed head and clasped hands, he closed his eyes, silently praying. Betty knelt beside him but didn't pray because she was too fatigued from jetlag, overheated, and queasy from the drive there.

Raising his head, hands still clasped, Gio said, "I want to apologize to you."

Curious, Betty regarded Gio. "For what?"

"Betty, I never apologized to you for the kiss in the deli."

"You don't have to," said Betty.

"Yes, I do," said Gio. "I have to apologize for that and for grabbing you at the dance."

"It was nothing," said Betty.

"No," said Gio. "I know it upset you. It made you run away from me. And after the baseball game …"

"You don't have to say anything," said Betty, hot and uncomfortable, her knees hurting from kneeling on the hard stone. Anxious about traveling on the dangerous roads at night, she wished they would leave. "We should go."

"No, I have to say it," said Gio. "I want us to start this trip right."

Betty saw pain and longing in Gio's eyes and she waited, trying to be patient.

"I have to tell you that I understand why you were mad at me, and sincerely apologize for the kiss, the grab at the dance, and after the baseball game when I …" said Gio, his voice trailing off.

Betty looked away from his pained eyes, and waited for him to finish.

"And after the game when I," said Gio, closing his eyes, "groped you."

"Okay," said Betty curtly. "That's done. Now let's go."

"Not yet," said Gio, still kneeling and looking up at her. "I have more to say."

"Go on," said Betty, wishing he'd wait until later.

It was dusk, the sun sunk below the horizon, the surrounding hillsides fading into the darkness. The temperature dropped and a light breeze cooled her skin.

"Betty, even though I always have to fight an incredible temptation to hold you whenever you're near me, I want to promise you," Gio's voice shook. "I want to make a promise to you, before God, here, at this sacred place, the graves of my ancestors."

"Okay," said Betty.

"I will _never_ force myself on you again," said Gio solemnly. "I want you to always feel safe with me."

"Good," said Betty, surprised he understood and admitted his error.

"Will you take me back?"

"No," said Betty. "Don't ask me now."

"No?" said Gio, anguished. "When?"

"I don't know when."

"No," whispered Gio.

"If," said Betty.

The sound of the word 'if' floated for a moment in the chasm between them and then exploded in Gio's ears, the impact sending him reeling back onto his heels. Covering his face with his hands, tears escaping from his clenched eyes, Gio slumped over, resting his head on his knees, his body shaking.

Betty looked up at the sky. Night had fallen and the graveyard was still, and silent, aside from the chirps of crickets, the olive tree's shimmering leaves fluttering in the wind, and Gio's ragged breaths.

The stars, a thousand fold more than she'd ever seen before, were twinkling brightly. Fascinated by the countless constellations, Betty watched a shooting star streak across the sky, from one edge to the other, where, without any warning, it vanished.

"Look up," said Betty, patting Gio's back lightly. Kneeling beside each other they gazed up at the awesome sight.

After several minutes, Betty's knees hurt too much and she tapped Gio's arm. Gio jumped up and offered her his hand, pulling Betty up he led her back to the car, holding the door open for her, and driving the dark, empty roads without saying a word until they reached their hotel near midnight, the end of their first day in Rome.

Now, lying in the bed beside Gio, looking up at the ceiling, Betty was sorry she had never spoken to him about that day. He had kept his word and invariably treated her with the utmost respect. But he was always on edge. She had to say something.

"Gio," said Betty. "It's hot. I only pushed you away because I'm hot. You don't have to worry about upsetting me anymore. That's over. I'm okay."

Having been constantly in fear of overstepping Betty's boundaries, Gio sighed in relief, intensely relieved to find out he need not worry about that any longer.

"It's so hot. Don't you feel the heat?" asked Betty.

"Feel it? No. You know I work in a blast furnace of a kitchen."

"Oh," said Betty. "I'm used to an air conditioned office."

"Can I try something?" asked Gio.

"Sure," said Betty.

Gio rolled towards Betty and lightly pushed her shoulder, rolling her away from him. He lifted her hair exposing the damp skin on the back of her neck and blew on it evaporating the sweat, brushing his fingertips lightly from the top of her spine to the dimple at its base, sending shivers through her. Surveying her back's tempting tawny skin extending to the twin plump crescents beckoning his hands to them, Gio blew slowly and gently, gliding his fingertips from nape to dimple until he saw goose bumps form on her skin.

"Mmmm," murmured Betty appreciatively, feeling much cooler.

Satisfied he was becoming a virtuoso player of the complex instrument that was Betty's body, Gio rolled onto his back.

"Ugh, I'm so sweaty. I stink," said Betty.

"No you don't. You smell like the best thing in the world," said Gio.

"What … Stilton cheese?" laughed Betty.

"No, _you_," said Gio. "You smell like you."

"You're amazing," said Betty.

"Mmmm," breathed Gio. "I'll never get tired of hearing that."

"I never liked it so much before," said Betty, blushing.

Gio smiled, his heart bursting with love.

Gio looked at his watch, still strapped to his wrist, and said, "I think we might've set a world record."

"Huh?" said Betty.

Gio stretched out his arm and showed her his watch, set to stopwatch mode.

"You're kidding me!" exclaimed Betty, laughing. "You timed it?"

"Yes, and I'd be surprised if it isn't a record."

"Braggart!" exclaimed Betty.

"Now with the fancy words!" said Gio.

"It won't be a record," said Betty, "if there are deductions for style. We almost didn't make it to the bed."

"I did make an incredible effort," said Gio proudly. "I know how much you prefer the bed to the floor. Style doesn't matter though, I was thinking in the sprint category."

"There are categories?" giggled Betty.

"Yeah," said Gio, "always!"

"Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure you missed some compulsory elements," said Betty, unbuckling Gio's watch and propping herself up on her elbow, reaching over him to set it on the bedside table beside his wallet, under the lamp. "For instance, you didn't take off your watch, a hazard. One of us could get hurt."

"Oh," said Gio, grinning. "And I thought I'd studied the rule book thoroughly."

"You were probably distracted by the section on the mile high club," said Betty, stroking Gio's chest and picking up the long chain with the cross, pulling it up over his head.

"Can't be too safe," said Gio, lifting his head for her.

"Better safe than sorry," said Betty, reaching over him to drop the necklace beside the watch and wallet.

"But it's kind of unfortunate though," said Gio. "I guess I'm going to need a do over."

"I knew you were going to say that," said Betty, smiling, brushing her fingers down his arm. "In fact, I was counting on it."

Cuddling up to him, Betty put her arm across Gio, ignoring the heat, and pressed her breasts firmly into his side.

"Now?" said Gio, laughing. "Did you skip the section on the mandatory rest break?"

Betty slid a silky thigh over Gio's hairy muscular one, moving it slowly and seductively, but failing to elicit a response.

"It's not that I don't want to," said Gio. "But there's a recovery time."

"How long?" asked Betty. "I don't recall seeing that figure in the book."

"It varies," laughed Gio. "Betty?"

"What?"

"I have to keep some secrets," said Gio.

"No," said Betty, tapping his chest. "The rules are quite clear. Turn to the page and you'll see. No secrets, it says, no exceptions, it says, and that part's in a big bold font."

"But what about Christmas presents?" said Gio. "You don't want me to ruin the surprise, do you?"

"No, I don't," said Betty. "You have an interesting point. Let me double check that."

Betty walked her fingers over Gio's skin like she was leafing through a book. "Hmmm, ah, there it is. There _is_ an exception for Christmas presents, but nothing else."

"But what about birthday plans?" asked Gio. "I'm checking into a few ideas and I want to surprise you. Would I have to tell you about my plans?"

"You're already planning?" said Betty. "I just had my birthday!"

"I like to plan ahead," said Gio. "You wouldn't want to leave something as important as that to the last minute."

"Oh, I suppose," said Betty. "Yes, I see an exception for birthday plans."

"Anniversaries?"

"Definitely!" said Betty. "Glad you thought of it. That's a must!"

"Valentine's day?"

"Sure," said Betty. "That too. What's one more? It can be an exception."

"Mother's day?" asked Gio.

"Mother's day?" said Betty, crossing herself, suddenly teary-eyed. "Mother's day is a day of mourning in the Suarez household. I always go to mass."

"I didn't know," said Gio, smoothing her hair. "We'll go to mass together."

Gio crossed himself and said a silent prayer for Rosa, Betty's deceased mother, gently embracing her as she buried her wet face into his side, stroking her hair until her breathing resumed its regular rhythm.

"I meant for when you're a mother," whispered Gio.

"Me!" said Betty, wiping her eyes. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of things?"

"I don't think so."

"You like to plan."

"You shouldn't leave important things to the last minute."

"But it might be a couple of years," said Betty. "Bringing a child into the world is a scary responsibility. I don't think I can handle it yet."

"You wouldn't have to do it alone," said Gio. "I'll be there. But whenever it is, the kids and I will definitely be doing something very, very special for you every year. It will take a lot of planning, and a lot of secrecy."

"Kids! Plural? How many kids are we going to have?" asked Betty.

"As many as you want," said Gio. "I love kids. I happen to be a very good Catholic."

"Someday I want to hear about your choir boy days," said Betty. "If you're such a good Catholic then why do you always use those things in your wallet?"

Gio smiled. Even alone with him, naked in bed with him, Betty was still too shy to say the word condom.

"For you, B," said Gio, gazing at her lovingly, pushing her hair back from her face. "When you're ready for kids, just say the word, because I already am."

"I hope our kids have your dimples," said Betty, stroking Gio's cheek.

"I hope they look like you," said Gio smiling, his cheek creasing under her fingers.

"Just like that," said Betty, kissing him lovingly, curling her leg over him to deepen the kiss. She felt something stirring.

"Break's over," said Betty, putting her hand on him. "Time to practice!"

Gio sucked in a sharp breath as the pressure from Betty's hand sent all his brain's blood racing for the nearest exit.

"Oh," shrieked Betty, giggling. "There _is_ a gun in your pocket."

After a few moments of stroking, Betty said, "The lamp is still on, can you get it?"

Seeing from Gio's dreamy expression that he was past comprehending anything, Betty heaved herself over him and lunged for the lamp, flicking it off and plunging the room into darkness, knocking Gio's wallet and watch off the bedside table.

"Damn!" cried Betty, her futile grab for the wallet sending her vaulting head first off the mattress, landing upside down on the floor trapped between the bed and the wall.

Startled out of his blissful state by Betty's sudden disappearance and momentarily disoriented by the dark, Gio quickly rolled over and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her up, laughing at her predicament.

"Thanks, you're the best," giggled Betty, clambering up onto him as he lay back on the bed.

"No, you're the best," laughed Gio, struggling to shield himself from harm while tickling her.

"No, you're the best!" shrieked Betty, straddling him, grabbing his tickling hands and placing them on her breasts.

"No, you're the best," said Gio, joyfully caressing and massaging her.

"Okay, I'm going to kiss you now," warned Betty, lowering herself onto him, kissing him, frenching him good, and moaning as Gio's eager tongue snaked around hers.

Suddenly the darkened room became very quiet, aside from Betty's rapturous cries and moans, and the sound of the bed's rhythmic creaking.


	20. Tangerine Sunshine

Betty's First Trip To Rome - The Return - Chapter 20 Tangerine Sunshine

Suzuki St. Pierre was stationed on the sidewalk, damp with melting slush, with his cameraman at the base of the front steps of the imposing and elaborate St. Mark's cathedral in central Manhattan three months after Betty's Mode charity performance. It was a mild day in early December and the sun shone weakly through gaps in the low cloud.

Standing beside Suzuki was Claire, dressed in a white coat, an elegant purple gown, a corsage of yellow roses, with a single strand of delicate pearls at her throat.

"I'm standing here, at prestigious St. Mark's Cathedral," said Suzuki to the camera, "with Claire Meade of Meade Publications. The church is packed full of guests and - as per usual - I'm bringing you the most significant and up-to-date news story in the fashion industry!"

"Claire," said Suzuki, "can you explain why we're here?"

"It's a fashion shoot," said Claire. "For our spring wedding issue. That's all the viewers need to know."

"Very well," said Suzuki. "First things first. Claire, your gown is divine. What do you call this color? Periwinkle, lavender?"

"No," said Claire. "Violet. In Asian cultures violet signifies the harmony of the universe, because it is a balance of red and blue, blue for yin and red for yang."

"Very enlightening, Claire," said Suzuki. "Not only is it meaningful, you look gorgeous in that color. Who designed the dress?"

"It is a Susie original," said Claire. "She's doing all the dresses for Mode's wedding issue which is due out in March."

"She's been busy, a proven fashion goddess," said Suzuki. "What _can_ you tell us about today?"

"You have to buy the magazine," said Claire. "I don't want to give it away. Our photographers are inside and we will be publishing the photos they take in the wedding issue."

"What can you tell us about the wedding issue?"

"The issue has twin themes: diversity and reality," said Claire.

"Thank you Claire," said Suzuki, turning to the camera. "Claire won't spill it but I will!"

"The fashion biz is abuzz with its worst kept secret!" said Suzuki conspiratorially. "Daniel Meade, the recently anointed Chief Financial Officer of Meade Publications and one of New York City's most eligible bachelors, is going off the market, as of today."

"Okay, I won't deny it, Suzuki," said Claire. "I will confirm for your viewers that my son is getting married today and that his wedding will be featured in the issue."

"Daniel Meade's own wedding photos will be published in Mode?" said Suzuki. "What's the world coming to?"

"The public has a huge appetite for reality features today, as you can see with the dramatic rise in popularity of reality TV, and this is a real wedding. We feel real wedding photos will be an appealing accompaniment to our wedding issue articles."

A black limousine stopped at the curb in front of the church and three black-suited security agents jumped out of the vehicle and opened the door for the passenger.

"It's Senator Slater!" said Suzuki to the camera, as the Senator emerged from the car.

"Senator," called Suzuki, holding out his microphone, "how are you today?"

Senator Slater's security team hustled him past Suzuki and up the stairs without stopping.

"Not necessary, but undeniable proof," said Suzuki to the camera, "that Daniel Meade's fiancé, Renee Slater, is his bride."

"Who else is in the wedding party?" said Suzuki to Claire. "You might as well say since I'll find out soon enough."

"Okay, you win," said Claire. "Renee's bridesmaids will be Alexis Meade, Wilhelmina Slater, and Nico Slater."

Another limousine pulled up at the curb and Daniel, Daniel Jr., Gio, and Justin, wearing tuxedos with boutonnières of yellow roses, stepped out on the sidewalk.

"Handsome, as always, and right on time," said Suzuki, holding out the microphone to Daniel. "Daniel, tell us, what's going through your mind?"

Ignoring Suzuki, Daniel hugged and kissed Claire, and then led the others into the church.

"Claire, who is that?" said Suzuki. "I don't recognize Daniel's best man."

"Good," said Claire. "Maybe there will be _something_ left for the magazine to reveal!"

Soon, another limousine arrived, and Ignacio, in a tuxedo with boutonnière and brand new shiny leather shoes, stepped out and opened the car door.

Wearing matching violet bridesmaid's dresses, corsages of yellow roses, and pearl necklaces, Hilda, Christina and Antonella stepped out onto the sidewalk. Helped by Hilda and Christina, Betty, in Susie's beautiful wedding gown, the perfect one, its silk bodice studded with pearls and full skirt graced with layers of frothy tulle, pushed armfuls of fluffy tulle ahead of her and eased her way out through the door, and stood up unsteadily in her white silk kitten-heel slippers.

"Betty Suarez! Betty, my sweetheart, you look fabulous!" said Suzuki, shocked. "Susie has outdone herself, the dress is spectacular! Claire, why is Betty in a bridal gown?"

"Betty, darling," said Claire, hugging Betty, who clung to her, still wobbling.

"Betty Suarez is not Daniel's bride!" said Suzuki. "Where's Renee? Is this a real wedding or just a photo shoot?"

"It's real," said Claire. "Now you've spoiled another surprise. It's going to be a double wedding."

"Two weddings?" said Suzuki. "Whose?"

"Meade-Slater, as you know," said Claire, "and Rossi-Suarez!"

"Ah, the twin themes!" said Suzuki. "I can guess that Meade-Slater represents diversity. Does that mean Rossi-Suarez symbolizes reality?"

"Both weddings represent both themes," said Claire. "Betty, for example, isn't a size zero, she has a real woman's figure, and as for diversity, Mode has brought in a couple of plane-loads of their relatives from Italy and Mexico. Daniel and Renee, of course, embody diversity and their reality is, like for so many blended families today, that they have two children participating in their ceremony, Daniel's son from a previous relationship and their daughter, Marina, the child of Wilhelmina Slater and my late husband Bradford Meade. Both their formal adoptions were legalized just last week."

* * *

The cavernous church reverberating with triumphant organ music, a veiled Betty stepped into the great hall clutching a bouquet of yellow roses, the sweetly fragrant golden petals tinged with tangerine, the color of warm sunshine. Following her purple-gowned bridesmaids Antonella and Christina, and maid of honor, Hilda, with Ignacio holding her elbow, Betty clasped her bundle of prickly stemmed sunbeams and began walking down the aisle.

Nervous and afraid of tripping, Betty whispered, "Hold on to me tight, Papi!"

Betty peeked through her veil at Gio, waiting between Daniel and Justin at the altar, gazing at her with rapt attention, an expression of relief and utter amazement on his face.

Gaining confidence after a couple of steps, Betty dared to sweep her eyes left and right over the hundreds of guests, all turning their heads to look at her, a vision in Susie's white silk full-skirted gown decorated with many layers of bubbling tulle and hundreds of miniature pearls.

Since it was Daniel Meade's wedding, the fashion elite's social event of the season, numerous members of the city's rich and famous, many of which were also generous benefactors to the Regal Park refugee Teens at Risk program, were in the audience.

She walked past her group of Regal Park teens, including Pauline and Flash, their families and friends, and their organizer Fiona Brown and her husband. She walked past Bling, his mother Joy and baby sister Patty, Harold, and Nick.

She smiled at Sondra and Bungee, seated next to Carlos Delgado, his wife, and his teammates. Carlos Delgado was loaning Betty and Gio his beachfront mansion in Puerto Rico for their honeymoon and Gio and Betty planned to throw several dinner parties there for Sondra, Bungee, Carmen and her family and friends.

She walked past Susie, now a star designer for Naomi Campbell, smiling warmly to her seatmate, a blushing and bashful Constable Parker, who had obligingly traded seats with her annoying spinning yarn blogging friend, who was now flirting shamelessly with the police officers who sat on each side of her.

She walked past Marc, dressed to the nines in a morning suit and carrying a walking stick, genuinely happy for Betty and extremely proud of the significant promotion Alexis had recently given him after his tearful confession and apology to Daniel and Renee about the pill-swapping incident, and Amanda, wearing a lovely dress and coordinating necklace uncharacteristically appropriate for the occasion.

A flurry of appreciative gasps and murmurs burst forth as Betty passed by the sizable contingent of her relatives from Mexico, each one pulling out a camera and taking dozens of flash pictures of her.

As she approached the altar she walked past Gio's mother and father, holding hands like love struck teenagers; his grandparents on his father's side, the ones who, four months previously and attended by Betty and Gio, celebrated their sixtieth anniversary in their little village outside of Rome; his nephew Giancarlo, wiggling with a toddler's uncontrollable energy, his brother-in-law Tony, and his sister Maria, her second pregnancy just starting to show; and Gio's other relatives from near and far.

The majestic organ music concluded with a lingering harmonious chord as Betty reached the altar, relieved she had not tripped. Facing the priest, surrounded by Antonella, Christina, Hilda and Ignacio, trembling with anticipation, Betty stepped into her place beside Gio.

* * *

After leading the congregation in a hymn and reading his mass, the priest took a step back to allow Betty and Gio to exchange their personal vows.

Gio carefully lifted up Betty's veil revealing her glowing face, sparkling eyes, and beatific smile. Betty gave her bouquet to Hilda as Gio took her wedding band from Justin.

"By bestowing upon me, Giovanni Mario Rossi, the honor and gift of cherishing you, Rosa Beatrice Suarez, for the rest of my life, you have made me the happiest man on earth."

Gliding the ring onto Betty's finger, Gio whispered to her, "I couldn't possibly be any happier than I am at this moment."

Fingers trembling from nervousness, Betty took Gio's ring from Justin's hand and overcome by fear, terrified of dropping it, clenched it tightly in her fist.

"By bestowing upon me, Rosa Beatrice Suarez," said Betty, her voice quavering, "the honor and gift of cherishing you, Giovanni Mario Rossi, for the rest of my life," Betty paused, gasping for air. "You have made me the happiest woman on earth."

Breathless from panic, hands shaking, knowing all eyes in the enormous cathedral were focused on her, Betty froze and stared desperately into Gio's eyes, convinced she was about to fumble the ring.

"Don't forget to breathe," whispered Gio. "Take a deep breath."

Holding his ring hand directly in front of Betty, Gio cupped his other hand under hers so he could catch the ring in case she dropped it.

Staring down at Gio's steady hand and her erratically wavering fist, Betty sucked in deep breaths and struggled to open her stiff clumsy fingers and grasp the slippery ring by its edges.

"You're doing great," whispered Gio, as Betty bumped the wedding band into his ring finger. "Almost there."

Again and again, she tried and missed, until, with a Herculean effort, she managed to slip the ring over the tip of the correct finger, uttering an exasperated cry when it snagged on Gio's knuckle.

"It won't fit," whimpered Betty, giving the ring an ineffectual shove.

"Just relax," whispered Gio. "Breathe."

"I can't do it," cried Betty, imagining the split-second delay as an eternity.

"You can do it."

Concentrating intently, Betty focused all of her mental powers on controlling her nervous fingers and dislodging the ring.

"Just one more push," encouraged Gio.

Betty popped the ring into place on Gio's finger and, bursting with pride at her astonishing accomplishment, looked up at him with a brilliant smile.

"Well done," whispered Gio, squeezing her hands and smiling back proudly.

"Gio, I'm such a klutz," whispered Betty. "I can't do anything right."

"You're amazing, B," whispered Gio, admiring her radiant face and wide smile. "You can do anything you want."

"Gio," whispered Betty.

"What?"

"I want to get pregnant."

Too astounded to believe his ears, Gio said, "What?"

"I want to have your baby."

Slowly absorbing the full meaning of her words, Gio was stunned, flooded by a tsunami of intense tender feelings.

Justin nudged Gio because the priest was waiting for him to kiss Betty but Gio didn't notice.

"You may kiss the bride," intoned the priest a second time, and again he was unheard by Betty and Gio, as they held hands and gazed lovingly into each other's eyes, engrossed in imagining their future together.

Hushed, the entire audience stared intently at them, impatient to see them kiss, holding their breaths in suspense, as Betty and Gio remained motionless, conscious only of each other, oblivious to everything around them.

Hilda nudged Betty until she understood the priest's instruction.

Basking in the glow of his happiness, Betty squeezed Gio's hands and said, "Kiss me."

His face resplendent with exquisite joy, Gio still did not move, still lost in the myriad of wondrous thoughts brought on by Betty's announcement.

At last, Betty reached up with both hands and grabbed Gio's head firmly, pulling him to her, kissing him squarely on the mouth. Roused out of his captivating thoughts by her kiss, Gio returned it passionately, and then caught Betty up, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, scooping her up into his arms, swinging her joyfully. Kicking her silk-slippered feet, Betty looped her arms around Gio's neck, hanging on for dear life, squealing and laughing with delight.

The audience erupted into enthusiastic cheers and applause, so happy were they to finally see Betty and Gio properly and securely united in wedded bliss.

But two pairs of hands in the cathedral were not clapping. Toddler Patty was too young to understand the clapping, but Harold, sitting between Bling and Joy, his heart overflowing with gratitude to Betty, dearly wished he could clap.

He couldn't clap because Patty's tiny fists were wrapped around his thumbs, her sock feet perched on his knees, her chubby thighs pumping, babbling an English word he had taught her that very morning, after requesting and receiving Joy's blessing.

Harold beamed with love, Joy looked on with motherly pride, and even Bling watched his baby sister, bubbles of drool dripping from her chin, with unusually keen interest, gleefully babbling her new word to Harold, "da-DEE, da-DEE, da-DEE."


End file.
